


Should You Ever Leave

by AmyPond45



Series: Behind the Scenes [1]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Bottom!Sam, Consensual Infidelity, Crack, Cuddling, Fourth Wall, Humor, M/M, Romance, Season/Series 10, Switching, Top!Sam, Wincest - Freeform, bottom!Jensen, established wincest, top!Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 08:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2381231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyPond45/pseuds/AmyPond45
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has spent two months alone after Dean died and disappeared. He would do anything to get him back, even if that meant summoning something that wasn't quite Dean, just looks exactly like him and screams a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story happened because I started worrying about Sam being all alone at the end of Season 9, and then I watched the SPN Mockumentary ("Behind the Scenes: A Fan's Perspective") and I couldn't NOT write that Jensen into a story, so here it is. Please comment!

Sam was in the dungeon of the bunker, performing his fifth locator spell, when he heard the screams.

"Dean?"

He'd know that voice anywhere.

Sam was up the stairs like a shot, letting his legs carry him toward the screams on pure adrenaline and instinct, skidding around the corner into the library and down the hall to Dean's room --

The room was dark, and it took Sam a minute for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, but he could see the figure huddled on the floor in the corner because he was wearing a white bathrobe.

"Dean?"

The figure screamed again, curling his body into a tight ball, hands in front of his face to ward away something unseen. He was shaking, turning as far away as he could as Sam approached.

"Hey, it's okay, it's me," Sam murmured, moving slowly and cautiously toward his brother, hands out in a calming gesture. "Take it easy. You're okay. It's just me."

Sam could see now that Dean was basically naked except for the robe, and maybe a pair of boxers. His chest gleamed in the meager light from the hallway, and his feet were bare. When he lifted his face for a moment Sam could see that his hair was wet, and he wore some kind of headband which held his hair back from his face --

Sam gave an encouraging smile when he caught Dean's eye, stopped in his tracks by the look of abject terror in Dean's expression.

"Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god -- "

The litany of panic poured from Dean's lips as he hid his face against the wall again, putting his hands up as if the thing that terrified him was right there in the room with him. As if the thing he was most afraid of was --

"Hey, Dean," Sam knelt down cautiously, not daring to move any closer. "It's just me, buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you. Not gonna let anybody hurt you. It's okay."

What the hell had happened?

It had been two months since Sam had seen his brother. Two months since Dean had died in Sam's arms. Two months since the night his body had disappeared from this very room. Sam had spent every waking moment searching for him since, chasing down every lead, performing rituals and spells and interviewing endless witnesses.

And Sam had done everything, literally and absolutely everything, short of killing someone, to get his brother back. This last spell had been a particularly complicated and dangerous one -- he'd had to use his own blood, Dean's DNA (luckily a few stray hairs had been left behind on his hairbrush and pillow) and the blood of a demon he had trapped and tortured, something Sam would never have done before this.

But Dean's death and disappearance had changed everything for Sam. Faced again with a future without Dean, Sam was determined he would never stop looking, even if it killed him. Especially if it killed him. Even if it meant that what came back to him wasn't really Dean anymore.

Or was damaged beyond anything Sam could do to heal or help.

Dean was whimpering now, so at least the screaming had stopped, but the pained muttering continued, as if he was making an effort to calm himself.

Sam stayed where he was, squatting a few feet away, murmuring reassuring sounds as Dean's breathing slowed, his mutters finally reduced to whispers, then stopped altogether.

"Hey, Dean," Sam tried getting through again once Dean was quiet, watched as his brother spread his fingers apart, opening one emerald green eye to stare out at Sam.

Sam smiled, nodding.

"That's it," he said softly. "See? It's just me. It's just me, Dean."

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

Dean's voice was muffled behind his own hands, but at least he was speaking, at least he seemed calmer.

Sam shrugged, pushing down the dread nudging at the back of his mind.

"It's your name," Sam explained gently, wondering if Dean's confusion was indicative of some kind of brain damage or -- or worse.

But at least he was talking. That was a good sign, wasn't it?

Dean took a deep, shaky breath, let it out slowly, letting his hands slip down over his knees, clutching them to his chest.

"No, it's not," he said, shaking his head sharply. "You know that. So why are you calling me that? What's happening? Where are we?"

"We're in the bunker, Dean," Sam explained, nodding. "This is your room, remember?"

Dean shook his head sharply again.

"No, it's a t.v. set," he insisted. "It's just a t.v. set. It's not supposed to be real."

Sam frowned. Something wasn't right here. Bad dreams or hallucinations were one thing, but this sounded like a full-blown delusion, a transposing of one reality onto another --

"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked.

Dean looked up at him, winced, shook his head again, then looked away at a corner of the room.

"I lay down for a minute -- we were between scenes and it was gonna take awhile to set up the next shot, and I was up late last night so I figured I could just catch a couple of minutes of shut-eye. Then I wake up and everybody's gone and the set is wrong, man. There's no way out. Everything's wrong! It's some kind of big joke! Somebody's decided to play a stupid fucking joke on me and I need it to stop! Now!"

Dean was working himself up into another panic attack, and out of sheer instinct Sam moved closer, laid gentle hands on his brother's shoulder and neck, trying to calm him.

Usually it worked. Usually Sam's touch was the one thing that got through to Dean when he was like this. Sam's touch and Sam's voice were the magic antidotes to anything that ailed Dean.

But this time it just wasn't happening. If anything, Sam's touch was the thing that was making Dean's freak-out even worse.

"No!" he jumped away. "Don't hurt me! Please! Oh god oh god oh god oh god --"

"Not gonna hurt you," Sam shook his head, his exasperation with the situation finally breaking through his caution. "Dean, what's wrong with you? You're home. You're safe here."

"No, no, not home, not home," Dean insisted, scrambling away from Sam with a wild look on his face. "I'm not him, damn it. I'm not -- you're not -- " 

He stopped suddenly, peered up at Sam with wide eyes, realization dawning.

"You're not him, are you?" Dean said, tentative. "You're -- you're -- Oh my god, how is this happening?"  


"Dean, calm down -- " Sam moved forward again, determined to stop this panic attack from escalating again.

"No," Dean started to pull himself up, stumbled, fell heavily on his ass, stared up at Sam, blinking. "No, listen to me. I'm not him, okay? I'm not -- I'm not Dean, goddamn it."

Sam felt like he'd been slapped.

Of course. Of course this wasn't Dean. Why the hell hadn't he figured that out before?

Then who -- or what -- was this half-naked man cowering in the corner of Dean's bedroom?

The man read the sudden fury in Sam's face, his eyes widening as he tried frantically to scramble away again.

"No no no no -- I can explain -- please don't hurt me! Please!"

But Sam had already grabbed the man by the lapels, was already hauling him to his feet, shoving him back against the wall, anger and frustration rising like a tidal wave from the depths of his soul.

"What have you done with my brother?"

The words roared out of Sam's chest with the force of a cannon, and the man's head snapped back, hit the wall hard.

"Ow!" he moaned. "Please, stop! Okay? I can explain! Don't hurt me! Let me go and I'll explain!"

Sam was shaking the man and shoving him against the wall, and now he could smell it -- something expensive, some kind of styling gel or cologne or something -- nothing like the earthy sweat and leather and Old Spice smell of his brother. The guy was wearing some serious product.

"Tell me," Sam bellowed. "Tell me right now why I shouldn't just end you?"

"No, no no no no," the man winced. "Please -- I think I know what's happening. It's insane but I think -- You -- You're Sam Winchester, aren't you?"

Sam shoved his face right up close, hauled the man up on the wall so he was on his toes, almost suspended with Sam pressed against him.

"You bet your goddamn life I'm Sam Winchester," Sam snarled. "Now who the hell are you?"

"J -- Jensen -- Jensen Ackles," the man stuttered, trembling violently in Sam's grasp. "I'm an actor."

Sam's eyes narrowed as the information sunk in, the name bringing back memories of something that happened years ago --

The t.v. show. Fake Castiel. Fake Ruby, for godssake. That freaky alternative universe where there was no magic, no supernatural. Just a shitty little t.v. show starring a couple of douche-bag actors.

Sam loosened his grip slightly, backed off so the guy -- Jensen Ackles -- could take a breath. The actor relaxed a little, eyes flicking up to Sam's, wincing, looking away again, still clearly trembling and scared shitless.

And so obviously not Dean, now that Sam knew the truth, that he couldn't help staring, noting the differences.

"No, you're not my brother," he breathed out, letting go of the man and backing away. "I can see that now. You're that actor. From that t.v. show."

Jensen straightened his robe, pulling it closed over his bare chest, crossing his arms in an attempt to appear less nervous. He nodded, then glanced up at Sam again.

"So what are you doing here?" Sam asked. "How did you -- "

Suddenly Sam knew.

"Oh my god," he murmured. "You and Dean share DNA -- alternate universe, same DNA -- how is that possible?"

Jensen shook his head.

"You tell me, man," he said. "You're the brilliant big-brained geek. I just act."

"But you have -- obviously you're not -- " Sam's brain was working hard to make sense of this, because it simply didn't make sense. 

Finally he shook his head.

"No, that can't be it, because you don't have the same ancestry. Your parents are different. This isn't biological. This is something else. Plus, you and I aren't related -- "

Sam peered at Jensen skeptically. "Are we? I mean, the other actor -- he's not your brother, right? The one who plays Sam?"

Jensen's eyes got big, and he actually stared straight at Sam for the first time, shocked.

Then he looked away again, shaking his head and shifting his feet nervously.

"God, no," Jensen breathed. "Jared and I aren't even friends."

"Huh," Sam nodded, remembering that other time. "That's right. Wow. This is -- "

He was about to say "weird," but he caught himself. When had weird ever been unusual for the Winchesters? And the opportunities here, if he could just figure this out, were enormous.

But first, there was a shivering civilian standing in front of him, a scared and completely freaked-out guy who needed some reassurance.

"Hey." Sam tried to soften his voice, put on his most sympathetic expression. "How about we find you some clothes, get you something to eat. Then we'll figure this out, okay? Does that sound good?"

Jensen raised his eyes, and the doubtful look there puzzled Sam. It was like the guy thought he was being the butt of a cruel joke. Like he was used to being a punching bag. For Sam.

Or Jared, the actor who played Sam.

Sam held Jensen's gaze intently, as he would when he worked with a traumatized victim at a crime scene, and finally it seemed to work a little. Jensen's facial expression went from tense and terrified to resigned and bewildered, and he gave a little nod as he looked away, seemed to be trying to collect himself.

"Okay," he agreed.

Sam opened drawers, pulled out Dean's jeans and a tee-shirt, laid them on the bed.

"Okay," he turned to Jensen, who was hugging himself and watching Sam. "I'll leave you to it. You know how to find the kitchen, right?"

Jensen nodded, looking so lost and sad that Sam couldn't help reaching out, couldn't help laying a reassuring hand on the actor's shoulder.

"Hey," Sam spoke gently, and Jensen looked up, wide-eyed and bewildered. "It'll be okay. We'll figure this out. We'll get you home, okay? I promise."

Jensen's face softened and his eyes suddenly glistened and for a minute Sam thought he was going to cry, so Sam patted him, then squeezed his shoulder, looking away awkwardly.

Because he did not need this strange man with his brother's face and body bursting into tears and needing comfort right now.

Sam so did not need that.

*

In the kitchen Sam scrambled some eggs, fried some bacon, made fresh black coffee and toast. When Jensen finally appeared -- what was he doing in there that took almost twenty minutes? -- Sam struggled not to jump. In Dean's jeans and black tee-shirt Jensen looked good. Really, really good.

Of course he looks good. He's an actor, Sam reminded himself. It's his job to look good.

Still, Jensen's appearance rattled Sam to the core in ways he didn't want to think about too deeply.

Because, the thing was, Sam was missing his brother something awful.

And suddenly, here was this look-alike in his kitchen, and it was -- it was unsettling.

To say the least.

"I can't eat that," Jensen noted, looking at the bacon and eggs on the table, obviously set out for him with the coffee.

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

"I'm vegan," Jensen said. "I don't eat animal products."

Sam stared at the actor in disbelief.

"You're kidding me," he said. "They cast an actor to play Dean who doesn't eat meat."

Jensen shrugged.

"So how do you even play all those scenes in the diners with the cheeseburgers and the barbecue and steak and -- "

Jensen lifted his eyebrows, taking Sam's breath away because his eyes were so green and looked so much like Dean's.

"It's called acting," Jensen said. "They use soy for the burgers. Usually they cut the scene so I can spit it out anyway. If I ate the way Dean does I couldn't fit through the diner door, much less these jeans."

Sam did not want to touch that comment with a ten-foot pole, not least because Jensen looked so damn good in Dean's jeans and it was totally messing with his mind.

Because he was not thinking about balling his brother, so there was no way he could be thinking about fucking this douche-bag actor.

No fuckin' way.

"Okay," Sam nodded, trying his best to show how calm he could be if he tried really, really hard. "So what can you eat?"

Jensen shifted his feet, looked awkward, like he fully expected Sam to take every advantage of any weakness he showed.

"Salad," Jensen suggested slowly. "Fresh fruit, fresh veggies, soy milk products, coffee. Oh yeah, lots of coffee."

Sam reached over and plucked the cup of java from the table, shoved it into Jensen's hand.

"Good. Here," he offered, trying hard to ignore the reaction he couldn't avoid when his fingers brushed Jensen's.

Damn it.

"Thanks," Jensen acknowledged, hands closing in around the mug of hot coffee like an anchor, letting it pull a moment of normalcy into the mix. "I'll just wake up now, thank you very much."

Sam turned away, determined not to let Jensen's presence affect him, knowing in his heart that was a losing battle.

"Not a dream, I'm afraid," Sam said softly, scooping up the plate of food and dumping it into the compost bin at the end of the counter.

Cuz Sam Winchester could garden with the best of 'em, and composting was totally part of the program.

Except that he'd been spending the past couple of months tracking down spells and leads to get his brother back, so the gardening and whatever else domestically was taking a bit of a backseat.

Okay, then.

"Okay, I think I get how you got here," Sam turned back to the actor, who was sipping the coffee and staring at him over the rim of the cup.

So not fair.

"You and Dean are clearly identical in every physical sense," he continued, thinking it through as he talked so he didn't have to admit how affected he was by those green eyes. "And don't ask me how that's possible, since you don't have the same parents. Right?"

Jensen shook his head, and Sam nodded.

"Okay, so it's a classic doppelgänger scenario," Sam went on. "You and Dean prove the theory that we all have an identical twin in another universe. Except in this case, there's this crazy coincidence that you and Dean actually have something in common -- namely, the story of our lives, which is fiction in your universe."

Jensen was still staring at him over the rim of his mug, and Sam felt his cheeks grow hot. He cleared his throat and shifted his feet in an obvious attempt to hide his body's reaction, but Jensen was watching him too intently not to notice

"You're really not him, are you?"

Jensen's question was so out-of-the-blue and unexpected that it took Sam a second to readjust, frowning in an effort to follow the words.

"Who?" he asked.

"Jared," Jensen clarified. "You're really not Jared."

Jensen's eyes dropped to Sam's crotch, then slowly raised to his mouth before meeting his eyes again, this time with a come-hither smirk that made Sam instantly hard as a rock.

Sam cleared his throat, shifted awkwardly, put one hand on his hip and ran the other through his hair, cleared his throat again.

"No," he agreed. "We already established that."

"You don't hate me," Jensen continued.

"Dude, I don't even know you," Sam huffed out a laugh. "Hate's a pretty strong emotion. Not exactly something you can muster for someone you barely know."

He looked speculatively at Jensen.

"Why does he hate you? You seem like a nice enough guy."

Jensen shook his head, looked away, a grim smile turning up the corners of his mouth but not quite reaching his eyes.

"It's a long story," he said. "We have to project this camaraderie on screen, you know? Everybody thinks we're best friends. The network likes it that way. Feeds the fan following. Two hot guys playing brothers, best friends in real life. Sells advertising. It's good for business."

Sam couldn't stop watching the actor's mouth as he talked, wanted him to keep talking just so he could keep watching. He was so distracted he barely heard the question.

"So where's your brother?"

"Huh?" Sam shook his head, dragging his gaze away so he could focus.

"Your brother? Dean? Tall, good-looking, crush on his younger sibling?"

Sam blushed to the roots of his hair, lowered his chin to his chest in a last-ditch effort to hide his response.

Jensen made a low chuckle, and when Sam raised his eyes the actor was smiling, crows feet at the edges of his eyes, straight white teeth showing.

"Man, you've got it bad," Jensen noted. "You and Dean are really doin' the deed. It's like every bad fan fiction fantasy come true, am I right? Wow." He shook his head, still grinning. "Can't say I'm surprised, and I'm definitely not saying you two don't deserve it, after all you've been through. But incest is -- wow."

Sam moved so fast Jensen didn't have a chance. He grabbed the actor's shirt in his hands and shoved him hard against the wall, sending the coffee cup crashing to the ground, where it shattered spectacularly.

"Shut up!" Sam bellowed. "You don't get to judge! You don't have a fuckin' clue! Who the hell do you think you are? Just because you play Dean in some stupid t.v. show, you think you know him? You think you understand us? How dare you, you little shit."

Sam shook the man soundly, for emphasis, and was rewarded with the return of abject terror to Jensen's handsome face.

"Hey, I'm sorry, man," Jensen stuttered, his whole body shaking in Sam's grasp. "I didn't mean -- sorry. No disrespect, seriously."

More satisfied by Jensen's fear than he probably should be, Sam nodded, stepped back, released the actor and let his eyes drop to the floor for a minute, ignoring the mess.

"Sorry. I'm a little on edge lately," he mumbled as he shuffled his feet and ran a hand through his hair, self-soothing to calm himself down. "Dean's missing, and I've been trying everything I can think of to find him -- And now I've got you to try to deal with --"

"Dean's missing?" Jensen repeated. "Wait -- is this right after he turned into a demon? Are we in the middle of the hiatus right now? Is that what this is?"

Sam stared, shaken to the core, unable to comprehend Jensen's words because they seemed so nonsensical.

"What? Dean turned into a demon? What are you talking about?"

Jensen nodded, taking a step sideways to position himself out of Sam's reach.

"At the end of Season Nine," he said. "Dean died, right? Metatron killed him. That just happened, am I right?"

Sam nodded slowly.

"Two months ago," he said. "I've been looking for him ever since."

Then it hit him.

"But -- " Sam's brain was spinning. "Dean has the tattoo. He can't be possessed."

Jensen was shaking his head, tiny smile turning up the corners of his mouth again.

"Not possessed," he said. "He IS a demon. Like Cain. Scary, out-for-nobody-but-himself, super-strong, care-free. And you can't find him because he doesn't want to be found, Sam. Cuz he's a monster now. He's the thing y'all used to hunt and kill."

Sam heard Jensen's words, understood what he was saying, and in his heart he knew it was true, but that didn't prepare him for the crushing weight of grief and devastation he was suddenly experiencing.

It pinned him in place, making it difficult to move.

"How do you know?" Sam breathed out, only now realizing that he'd taken a step backwards, hit the table with the backs of his legs.

He grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself, his legs threatening to give out on him all of a sudden.

Jensen was watching him, sympathy winning out over the trepidation in his eyes.

"It's in the script," he said gently. "I'm sorry, man. We've already been filming. We've got the third episode in the can already."

"Wait -- so you know everything that's gonna happen," Sam clarified.

Jensen tilted his head, shrugged.

"I've got a general idea," he admitted. "I've read the scripts for the first few episodes, and they've given us the story arc for the season."

Sam ran a hand through his hair.

"You're like Chuck Shurley or something," he suggested, desperation making him grasp at straws. "You're like a prophet."

Jensen shook his head.

"No, I'm not a fictional character," he insisted. "And I'm not a writer. Those guys are the gods of this thing, not me."

"Wait -- what did you just say?"

Jensen lifted his eyebrows, shrugged.

"I'm not a fictional character," he repeated.

"No, the other thing. The writers."

Sam was already bounding out of the kitchen and into the library, Jensen on his heels. Sam grabbed his laptop, slid into his seat.

"Those guys might exist here," Sam said. "Maybe one of them can help us figure out what's happening."

"I can tell you what's happening," Jensen insisted. "But you're not gonna like it."

"Dean being a demon isn't bad enough?" Sam snapped.

"Unfortunately not," Jensen admitted. "He's not the real monster in this story, Sam."

"What?" Sam looked up, confused. "What are you talking about? Who's the real monster then?"

"Well now, that would be you," Jensen shrugged, backing up to give Sam some room to absorb his words, his accusation.

Sam glared, waiting for Jensen to continue. The actor managed to look smug and a little bit apologetic at the same time, and Sam struggled with the urge to hit the man.

Or kiss the damn smirk off his pretty face, whichever.

"I don't know why I'm even listening to you," Sam went for the bitch face.

Jensen shook his head.

"You're gonna get really desperate, Sam," he explained. "Another month or two go by and no Dean, and you start torturing people for information, doing whatever it takes to find your brother."

"No way," Sam shook his head. "Not gonna happen."

Jensen shook his head again.

"It's in the script," he said. "It's already been filmed. Sorry, Sam. It's a done deal."

Something in Jensen's words struck a nerve in Sam, made him catch his breath and shake his head, overwhelmed by a sense of deja-vu.

This conversation was too familiar, too much like other conversations with other creatures -- and Jensen might be human and a civilian, but his very existence was a supernatural event, and therefore he -- Jensen -- was a kind of supernatural creature. Something that shouldn't exist, but did.

Then it hit him. This was a lot like those asshole angels, like Zachariah telling him all those years ago that he couldn't escape his fate. That he and Dean were destined to bring on the apocalypse.

"No," Sam breathed out now, raising his eyes to Jensen's, feeling the familiar Winchester stubbornness well up inside him. "No, that's not how it's gonna be. I'm changing it. Right now."

Jensen's eyes widened in surprise.

"You can't," he insisted. "It's already been filmed."

"Well, it hasn't happened here yet, in this universe, so that proves we're not perfectly parallel. Your being here proves that, right? Or did the actor who plays Dean magically appear in the middle of the bunker one summer day in your world? In one of the scripts?"

Jensen was still staring, seemingly mesmerized by Sam's intent gaze. Then he swallowed, and Sam couldn't help letting his eyes drop, watching Jensen's throat move.

"No, that's true," Jensen agreed softly.

Sam tore his gaze away, turned back to his laptop.

"Okay, then," he said, clearing his throat. "Let's get to work. I need to know everything you can tell me about how the story unfolds in your timeline. What are the names of those writers?"


	2. Chapter 2

Three hours later, Sam was turning up some seriously messed-up shit. Knowing more about Dean's behavior, his whereabouts, the places he went after he resurrected and the things he did -- facing the fact that he was looking for a demon, the reality that Dean had become the very thing they both hated most -- well, it was seriously messing with Sam's head, that's all. And it really didn't help having Dean's stupidly good-looking doppelganger sitting in the chair next to him at the table, filling in the blanks, trying to be helpful between freak-out jags about his own inter-dimensional travels.

Because Sam had priorities, and at the moment, returning Jensen to his own reality wasn't at the top of his list.

So when he was ready to leave the bunker and head out to follow leads -- turned out a Jeremy Carver owned a comic book shop in Boise, and possible doppelgangers for Robbie Thompson and Adam Glass wrote scripts for an indie film company in Seattle -- he nixed Jensen's pleas to come along, reminding him that this world was full of monsters and it just was not safe.

"So you're just gonna leave me here?" Jensen stared. "Alone?"

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"You'll be perfectly safe here," he assured the actor. "This place is heavily warded. Nothing supernatural getting in here. There's food in the kitchen. Just stay here, okay? I'll be back in a few days, then we'll figure out our next step."

"A few days?" Jensen's voice was rising, bordering on hysteria again. "You can't be serious. You can't just leave me here for a few days!"

"Hey," Sam put on his most soothing voice, dropped a hand onto Jensen's shoulder to steady him, gazed into his eyes. "You'll be fine. I promise. You can call me if you need to talk to somebody. There's a t.v. and some dvds in my room if you get bored, or you can shoot pool in the rec room. Just -- just don't leave the bunker, okay? It's seriously not safe out there."

"Oh my god, Sam, please -- I can't stay here by myself -- I'll lose it," Jensen was pleading, his green eyes wide and filled with tears. "Please -- "

"Hey. Okay, wait a minute," Sam soothed, pulling the smaller man into his arms, feeling his body tremble along the length of his. "It's okay, you're gonna be okay. Come on, man. I promise."

Jensen melted into Sam's body, hugged him desperately, pressed himself so tightly against Sam it was like they were one person.

And the thing was, Jensen's body fit Sam's perfectly, just the way his brother's did. It felt exactly like hugging Dean, hugging this strange actor who played his brother, and Sam's body responded like it always did to Dean, just like Sam knew it would because he couldn't control the deep, urgent need to be in Dean's arms. To hold Dean like this.

And for a moment he indulged himself, knowing full well that this wasn't Dean, but needing the feeling of having Dean in his arms so desperately it just didn't matter. This substitute, this fake Dean, was giving him strength, was filling his body's craving for his brother like food to a starving man, and he just held on, crushing Jensen against him, burying his face in the crook of the man's neck, trying not to notice the difference in the way he smelled, just allowing himself to give into the fantasy, however briefly, that Dean was home.

When he started to pull away, Jensen clung to him, and it took him a minute to realize the man was craving this closeness as much as Sam was. It made no sense, so he doubled his efforts to pull away, and Jensen actually sobbed in protest, a deep, tearing, ragged sound wrenched from the depths of his body.

Sam lifted his head, looked down into Jensen's tear-filled eyes, confused.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "What's the matter with you?" 

"Please," Jensen choked. "Please don't leave me."

And damn it if Sam just couldn't do it, regardless of what a stupid thing it was to bring the man along. He couldn't do it because when he looked at Jensen he saw his brother, and it wasn't right in so many ways, and he was more messed up than he wanted to know, but he was beginning to fear that getting Dean back, fixing him, might be harder than anything he'd ever done before. And in the meantime, having Dean's doppelganger around was beginning to seem a little less onerous and maybe just a little bit preferable to not getting Dean back for a very, very long time, if ever.

Not saying that last thing again. Not getting Dean back, not fixing him, was not an option.

Nevertheless, Sam's protective instincts and years of training were not exactly in top form since Dean died and disappeared, and in his mounting desperation to find and fix his brother, taking a civilian on a dangerous supernatural hunt suddenly didn't seem like such a major taboo anymore.

Why is he supposed to care if the guy gets slaughtered again?

Slippery slope, Sam, he reminded himself sharply. You start breaking the rules, doing things that you know could get people hurt or killed, you're already heading down a dark path.

It was his brother's voice, Dean's voice, reminding him of what their dad taught him all those years ago,

And that was the last straw.

Because Dean wasn't here to remind him about a hunter's rules, about protecting civilians, about never taking one on a hunt. Dean had left, didn't want to be found, didn't want Sam rescuing him.

So Dean and his rules could just go to Hell.

Bad-ass-mo-fo Sam Winchester was back in town. Alone. With a civilian side-kick if he wanted it.

He wanted it.

"Okay, okay," Sam spoke softly, shaking Jensen a little to get his attention. "Okay, you can come."

He patted Jensen on the cheek, meaning it as a friendly but firm way to get Jensen to end the embrace.

But Jensen's eyes got wider (if that was even possible) and he surged forward again, wrapping his arms around Sam and burying his face in Sam's shoulder, clinging for all he was worth and trembling with relief, so Sam found himself returning the embrace again, stroking the man's firm body through the thin tee-shirt, taking comfort from the familiar feel of muscle and bone. The actor was slighter than Dean somehow -- maybe not quite so muscular, maybe just a lighter weight overall -- lean and without an ounce of fat anywhere -- again, like Dean but not like Dean.

"Thank you," Jensen breathed against Sam's shoulder, his tears and warm breath leaving a damp spot on Sam's shirt. He snuggled in closer, showing no signs of letting go, and Sam tolerated the hug for another full minute before he made the first move to pull away.

That's when Jensen shifted so that his crotch was shoved against Sam's and --

Okay, then. So Sam's body's not the only one responding to this.

Sam pulled back more firmly, and Jensen raised his face, tear-streaked pink cheeks and slick pink mouth and eyes like deep pools of emerald water --

Sam cupped Jensen's face in one hand and damn if it didn't fit just like Dean's did, just the perfect size for Sam's long fingers to curl around behind his neck, so Sam could feel the fine short hairs there with his fingertips, run the pad of his thumb along the curve of the man's perfect cheekbone, feel the sandpaper rasp of his five-o'clock shadow against the calloused skin of Sam's palm.

Time seemed to have stopped as Sam gazed down into the face of the man he loved -- knowing it wasn't really Dean, but unable to shake the illusion, needing to pretend for just one more minute --

Then Jensen's eyes dropped to Sam's mouth and his pink tongue slipped out to swipe unconsciously across his perfect lips and the spell was broken.

Sam lurched back, breathing hard, needing relief from the tightness in his pants but unwilling to adjust himself in front of Jensen.

Jensen raised his eyes to Sam's and smirked -- fuckin' smirked, for godssake!

"You want me," he said darkly, eyes almost completely black with lust.

And that was just so so unfair.

"Shut up!" Sam mumbled, shifting his feet in an obvious effort to ease his discomfort. "It's not you."

He took a step backwards, putting his hand up to ward Jensen off.

"It's not -- it's not you, okay?" he insisted again. "I miss him. I miss my brother."

Jensen lowered his eyes, but the little smile at the corners stayed right where it was, maybe even growing a little.

"Jared never could control that either," he growled softly, his voice low and sultry. "He always gets hard-ons when we hug. Even now, even after all these years. It's a problem."

Sam stared. What?

"What -- you know, I don't even want to know what the hell you're talking about," Sam said, frowning. "I don't even know you. And this conversation is over. I have work to do."

He turned, grabbing up his laptop case from under the table, shoving the laptop and some of his papers into the case.

"You coming?"

Sam flung the words over his shoulder without even looking to see if Jensen was following him as he charged out of the room toward the garage.

_

They drove in silence for almost three hours, Sam so furious with confusion and desperation he couldn't think straight. He didn't know (and really didn't care) why Jensen was quiet. The man was a total pain in his ass. Helpless, useless, destined to get in the way and to be a complete liability, maybe even get both of them killed if they ran up against anything nasty. Which they couldn't help doing, of course, this being Sam's life. It was pure stupidity to bring him along, and Sam was just done with wondering why he decided to do it.

Not to mention spending two days in the car with the jerkwad.

Of course, flying had been out of the question, since Sam needed his weapons. At least Jensen had the tact not to complain about the car -- an old beat-up Ford Taurus Sam had hot-wired in Omaha just after Dean disappeared. The classic cars in the bunker's garage were simply off-limits if they wanted to stay under the radar, and of course Dean had the Impala.

So now here Sam was, road-tripping with a t.v. actor from another universe, sneaking quick glances at the familiar profile, slumped down in the passenger seat with his eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest and knees splayed as Sam drove.

Of course, in sleep he looked even more like Dean, and Sam had to physically catch himself before he slipped a hand across the seat and onto the actor's knee, just to give himself the illusion --

Not Dean.

Damn it.

And the sick thing was, this asshole wasn't even a monster. It wasn't like those times when fake Dean was a shapeshifter, or a leviathan, or one of Lucifer's mind-warping illusions. Something he could kill.

Nope. This was a human being.

It felt like a special kind of punishment, a head-fucking cocktail prepared just for Sam, having this happen. If he didn't know better, he would blame Gabriel for it. In fact, it was just like something Gabriel would do. Kick him when he's down, when he's most desperate and hungry and missing his brother most intensely -- just fuck with him by giving him this dickwad not-brother to cart around, daring him not to protect and take care of this asshat fake Dean, just to test his bond with his real brother. Just to see how deep the bond goes.

Because temptation in the form of this vulnerable human who can't be killed was just so insidious. Worse than any forth-right, all-out, monster-under-the-bed style evil.

Because this dude didn't even know he was evil.

Because he was only evil to Sam. He was Sam's worst nightmare. Having Dean but not having him. All the reminders, none of the reality.

When they stopped for gas Jensen woke up, looking around blearily for a moment before catching Sam's eye, frowning.

"Gotta take a leak," Sam said. "Stay here."

When he got back Jensen was filling the gas tank, and it made Sam's heart stop for a minute to see him standing there, bowlegs wide in Dean's familiar stance, filling the tank one-handed while the other hand was shoved into the pocket of his jeans.

He turned his head and lifted an eyebrow as Sam approached.

"Found the fake credit card in the glove box," he noted dryly. "This one's on Don Johnson."

Sam shrugged, tossed a bag of chips at Jensen, who caught it easily with one hand.

"Lunch," Sam noted, crossing around to the driver's door, slipped inside, opening his plastic bottle of diet Coke and taking a long pull. He watched Jensen finish filling the tank, shake out the nozzle and return it to the handle, then open the passenger door and slip smoothly into the seat.

Sam handed him his bottle of green tea and ginseng, noted Jensen's surprise.

"Thanks, man," he smiled, a genuine look of pleasure that crinkled the edges of his eyes and made his teeth shine.

Nothing like Dean.

"But I can't eat these," Jensen added, tossing the chips into Sam's lap.

Sam shrugged.

"Your loss," he noted. "Three more hours till our next stop."

Jensen's eyes widened for a minute, making him look young and ridiculously cute, also nothing like Dean.

"Okay," he agreed in a small voice. "You're the boss."

Sam shot him a skeptical look, but Jensen was already looking out at the landscape, face open and relaxed and trusting, without a glimmer of sarcasm.

Nothing like Dean, Sam reminded himself again, shaking his head to hide the little shiver that ran up his spine.

*

When they stopped outside Denver it was because Jensen found a restaurant with good food on his phone which, however impossibly, he'd managed to bring with him from his universe. It made Sam crazy to waste the time stopping for a meal, but when he saw how just the idea of a bowl of fresh vegetables and tufu with a tall glass of iced green tea seemed to make Jensen positively orgasmic with anticipation, he couldn't resist. It was just too good an opportunity to miss, getting to watch Jensen's obscenely beautiful mouth gorging itself on something healthy.

So Sam ordered his own southwest chicken salad with a beer and watched.

Jensen used chopsticks, of course. His hands were more delicate, if no less dexterous, than Dean's. Not a working man's hands, like his brother's. Someone whose job did not involve changing tires, cleaning guns, and digging graves.

Halfway through his bowl of health food Jensen finally looked up, noticed Sam watching him, and smirked.

Damn it. The bastard was used to being watched, that was clear. Of course, anyone who looked like Dean would be used to being watched. People watch men who look like Dean.

Sam shook his head, lowered his eyes to his own plate, hoping Jensen didn't notice the flush that rose in his neck and cheeks.

But of course he did.

"Not hungry, Sam?" Jensen asked, noting Sam's barely-touched plate.

"Just anxious to get back on the road," Sam sulked. "Can't believe we're wasting time like this."

"Eating well is not wasting time," Jensen insisted. "The body is a temple. We need to worship it. Sacrifice on its altar. Keep it clean and healthy."

Sam raised his eyes, staring in blunt amazement.

"You really are a douche, you realize that, right?"

Jensen colored prettily and Sam shook his head.

"Actors," he muttered, pushing the food around his plate grumpily.

"Yeah? What would you know about it?" Jensen challenged. "You think it's easy doing what I do?"

"Oh, I know it is," Sam huffed, looking away out the window, wishing for the hundredth time that day that he hadn't brought this distracting little civilian along in the first place.

Jensen was silent so long that Sam turned back to look at him curiously, only to find those mesmerizing green eyes watching him this time.

"What?" Sam snapped, more irritated than he needed to be, but unwilling to hide it.

Jensen lowered his eyes, pushed his empty plate away, took a long pull on his iced tea, then shook his head.

"Nothin,'" he said finally. "Just -- I still can't believe you're real. I keep thinking you're gonna snap out of character any minute and admit to playing the biggest practical joke of all time. On me."

Sam smiled a little at that.

"So, the guy who plays me, he's a pretty good actor, huh?"

Jensen winced.

"He thinks so," he said. "He thinks he's just about the greatest thing since sliced bread. Period. He's nothing like you."

Sam considered this for a minute, then shook his head.

"I can't see how an actor could play a character he has absolutely nothing in common with," he argued. "I mean, isn't that what actors do? You find the motivation for the character's choices, then you draw on your own life experience and use that emotion to make the scene feel real?"

"Sometimes," Jensen agreed. "But with a character like Dean -- or Sam, for that matter -- there's a lot of imagination involved. I can't say I know what it's like to watch my brother die in my arms, for example. Thank God. But I have a brother. I can imagine how I'd feel if I lost him. And I have lost people in my life, so I use that. I think about how that felt when I play Dean grieving for Sam. Or his dad. Or Bobby or Kevin or -- "

"Okay," Sam put up his hands. "Stop. I get it. All I'm saying is, whoever that actor is that plays me, he can't be that different. He can't be a total dick."

"Oh, he can be," Jensen nodded grimly. "He definitely can be."

Sam shook his head.

"No, I mean, he can't play me convincingly if he doesn't care about you. Me and Dean are so close -- you can't play that closeness unless you really feel it on some level. It just wouldn't come off."

"That's why it's called acting, Sam," Jensen smirked, finishing his ice tea and wiping his mouth with his napkin.

Sam was still shaking his head.

"Well, I don't believe it," he insisted. He pushed his chair back so he could stand up and pull his wallet out, counted out three bills and left them on the table.

He didn't notice Jensen's speculative look as he turned to lead the way out of the restaurant, didn't notice Jensen's eyes narrowing on Sam's broad back as he followed him out to the parking lot.

*

"So -- I know pretty much everything there is to know about your life," Jensen said in the car after they were on the road again.

Sam glanced at him, frowned a little, but didn't answer.

"So -- don't you want to know anything about me?" the actor tried again.

"Not really," Sam shrugged a little, not even trying to hide his irritation.

"'Cause I can tell you, this show has basically taken over my life," Jensen went on, as if he didn't notice Sam's lack of interest. "And because it's just got two leads, and I'm in practically every damn scene, I don't get a lot of down time."

Sam kept his eyes on the road, although he could feel Jensen looking at him, studying him.

"When we first started, Jared and I found an apartment together. We hung out after work, during breaks. We were close, like you and Dean."

Sam felt his jaw clench. He really, really didn't want to hear this.

"So what happened?" he asked, hating himself for his own curiosity.

"Jared started seeing someone," Jensen shrugged.

"Fake Ruby?" Sam suggested.

"No, this was before," Jensen shook his head. "It didn't last. But then Gen came along and that was it for him. Well, until she finally figured out what an asshole he is and bailed on him."

Sam raised his eyebrows, glanced over.

"What about you?" he asked, again wondering why the hell he cared. "You find someone?"

"Nah," Jensen shook his head, staring fixedly out the window. "I'm a confirmed bachelor. King of the Road. Nobody can stand me for more than five minutes, once they get to know me."

"No long-term relationships at all?" Sam was more interested than he wanted to be. "Ever?"

Jensen turned his head and Sam could feel his eyes on Sam's profile, studying him silently for a minute before he answered.

"Nope," Jensen said finally, turning back to stare out the window. "Never."

Sam nodded.

"Just like Dean," he commented dryly.

Jensen shook his head.

"Dean's got you," he said quietly. "And -- he made a go of it with Lisa for a year, so he's capable of settling down if he has to. Of course, whenever you're around that's not exactly possible. It's kind of a catch-22. And now he doesn't even want that anymore."

Sam shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. This was private territory Jensen was treading on, and although Sam knew that the actor was aware of the intimate details of his life with Dean, it was beyond embarrassing to hear him talk about it.

"What does he want?"

The question was on the tip of Sam's tongue, but he couldn't ask it. It was too personal, and he was afraid the actor would give him an answer he really, really didn't want to hear.

So Sam bit the inside of his cheek and said nothing. Better to leave that question for later, when he was face to face with Dean and could ask him directly.

*

Sam was all for driving all night and going straight through to Vegas without stopping, but Jensen was adamant that they needed to stop, he needed to go for a run and do his yoga exercises and basically refuel and he was hungry.

So Sam found a tiny out-of-the-way motel in Green River with the perfectly creepy-sounding name of Sleepy Hollow and Jensen just stared.

"You're kidding, right?" he said, looking from the 1950s-era sign to the long low line of shabby rooms, each with its own parking space in front. "These places really exist?"

Sam rolled his eyes as he got out to check in, then came back with the key and drove the car to the end of the block of rooms, furthest away from the office.

"All they had was a king," Sam grumbled as he parked. "I'll take the side nearest the door."

Jensen's eyes were wide as saucers.

"We -- we're going to share a bed?" he choked out, but Sam was already out of the car, yanking bags out of the trunk, muttering to himself about how stupid this was, that stopping for the night was a total waste of time.

Jensen followed Sam into the room, then stood staring while Sam checked the bathroom and closet, then pulled out the salt and goofer dust and started laying lines along the windows and door.

Green River catered mostly to truckers passing through, so the choice of restaurants was predictably limited and heavy on the fried foods Jensen couldn't eat, so Sam had stopped at Subway on the way into town and got them veggie subs for dinner. They sat together at the small table and watched the Salt Lake City news as they ate, the motel's cable service as predictably limited as everything else in town.

Jensen refused the beer Sam offered, taking a chance on the shower instead. When he came out Sam had his laptop out and was surfing for demon activity in and around Las Vegas. He glanced up at Jensen, who was clad only in a towel as he rifled through Sam's duffle for clean boxers.

"We need to get you an anti-possession tattoo."

The words slipped out automatically, making Jensen's eyes widen as he finally found what he was looking for.

"Yeah, I should've thought of that before," Sam continued. "We're headed straight into Demon Territory tomorrow and you're not protected."

"Are you?" Jensen raised his eyebrows, and Sam looked up at him. He was definitely a sight for sore eyes, standing there in a towel with wet hair and a pair of underwear clutched in his fist, and Sam had to look away before he could answer.

"Demons won't bother me," he said with more confidence than he felt. "Dean won't let them."

"Oh, you think Dean will protect you? You think he cares?"

Sam looked up again, grateful to find Jensen clad in the boxers and pulling a tee-shirt over his head to cover up all that naked skin.

His arms and legs were still bare, though, and suddenly the thought of being in bed with that was starting to worry Sam.

"He's my brother," Sam said darkly. "Whatever else he's become, he's still my brother."

Jensen shook his head.

"That's what you always say," he noted. "Like it's code for something completely different."

He reached down and pulled the covers off the bed, wrinkling his nose at the slightly grimy feel of the bedspread.

"There are semen and blood stains all over this room," Jensen explained helpfully. "Especially on this mattress. Infra-red would show them. They can't be scrubbed or washed out."

"Thanks for the visual, Sherlock," Sam snapped, rolling his eyes. "Maybe you can sleep in the bathtub."

"It's germy there too," Jensen complained, staring down at the bleached white sheets as a huge yawn overtook his whole body, turning into a giant stretch that caused the teeshirt to ride up and expose his belly.

Sam tried not to watch as Jensen lowered his arms again, shrugged, muttered, "Too tired to think about it," and slipped into the bed, smiling a little as he pulled the covers up and snuggled into the pillow.

Sam tried not to watch, tried to keep his eyes on his work, hacking security cameras for footage of demons working and playing in casinos, discovering as he did that the whole city was literally crawling with the evil sons-o-bitches.

They were so screwed.

They? No way. No way could he take this defenseless civilian into the middle of that.

Sam glanced over at the bed. Jensen was already out, as far as he could tell, curled up on his side facing Sam, hugging the pillow. In sleep he seemed even more vulnerable, and Sam cursed himself again for being talked into bringing the actor along. This was not going well. Would not go well tomorrow when they got to Vegas and the demons got a look at the delicious piece of meat Sam was bringing to the party.

Damn.

What was he thinking?

Obviously, there was only one thing he could do.


	3. Chapter 3

An hour later Sam was on the road to Vegas, trying not to think about how freaked out Jensen would be when he woke up and found Sam's note.

"Gone to do the job. Back in 24 hours. Stay put! Do not leave this room! In an emergency only, call me."

He'd underlined the word "emergency" and left his cell on just in case, but he'd only been gone a few hours when it rang.

"Fuck you, Sam Winchester!" The voice was so much like Dean's it made Sam suck in a breath, steady himself against the steering wheel. "You left me! You fuckin' left me in the middle of bum-fuck Utah!"

Sam took a deep breath, clenched his jaw.

"You'll be fine, Jensen," he soothed. "Just relax. I'll be back before you know it. Just -- don't leave the room, okay?"

"Fuck -- fuck!" Jensen's voice was rising, bordering on hysteria. "You left! You left me!"

"Jensen -- "

"It's like -- fuck, it's like Jurassic Park and you're that douchebag lawyer! Who does that? Who leaves two defenseless kids alone in a car when there's a goddamn t-rex attacking?"

Sam bit down on his cheek, fought down the guilt welling up in his chest.

"You're gonna be fine, Jensen," Sam said again. "I promise. Nothing can get you as long as you stay in that room inside the salt lines. Okay? Just stay there."

"I hate you," Jensen was nearly sobbing now. "You hear me, Jay? I fuckin' hate you!"

Sam frowned. "I'm not -- who's Jay?"

Jensen was silent, although Sam could swear he heard the actor suck in a breath.

"Jensen?"

"Never mind," Jensen breathed out. "Just get back here, okay? Please?"

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Sam answered firmly, ending the call before Jensen started screaming again.

The phone rang again almost immediately, so Sam shut it off. He'd said all he could say, and felt pretty sure Jensen understood how important it was to stay in the room, so he just had to believe he'd be fine.

Because the alternative was more than he could deal with right now, and was the reason he'd left Jensen in that motel room in the first place.

*

It was getting light as Sam pulled into Las Vegas, but the city was ablaze with activity as always. Electronic signs flashed their endless come-ons, hotels competed for splashiest displays and brightest allures. The streets were crowded with cars and people, music poured out of every doorway and open window.

Sam could tell he looked down-and-out by the way the valet treated him when he pulled up to the Desert Palm Hotel. He couldn't be certain the man was a demon, so he tipped him after tossing him the keys. He'd already decided to leave the weapons in the motel with Jensen -- maybe his acting experience included loading and shooting a sawed-off or at least a Glock if he needed to. For Sam's purposes, the demon blade tucked into the waistband of his jeans and a small flask of holy water in his pocket were all the defense he carried. Hopefully all he needed. With the hotel's security systems, handguns were too risky, and his heart pounded as he strode into the lobby, anticipation making his blood run cold and his palms sweat.

As he crossed the casino floor he was aware of eyes on him, mostly indifferent, but some openly hostile. He tried to avoid eye contact, eyes sweeping the room for the familiar form he knew better than his own. It only took him a minute to find him, all the way across the room, leaning on the black-jack table, drink in one hand, blond bombshell in the other, raising his eyes to meet Sam's with a look that was heated and direct, no guilt, no smirk, maybe just the hint of warning.

Dean.

Without even thinking about what he was doing Sam was crossing the room, eyes pinned only on his brother, jostling people and darting around bodies in his single-minded goal.

Get to Dean.

He was about half-way there when Dean turned away from him, then seemed to disappear into the crowd behind him, so that by the time Sam reached the place he had been standing, Dean was all the way across the room again, moving fast, his back to Sam, the girl still hanging on his arm, moving with him. The crowd -- how could it be so crowded here at 7:00 in the morning?! -- closed up behind Dean so that he was already in the elevator, turning around to face Sam as the doors slid closed, before Sam could even get half-way there.

In the last second before the elevator doors closed Dean caught his eye, warning clear this time.

Stay away. Leave me alone. Don't follow me.

It couldn't be clearer if Dean had spoken the words, but Sam wasn't listening. He pushed his way to the bank of elevators, punched the button to call a car to go up, to follow Dean, then stood back and watched the lights for the floors blink one by one until the number six lit up and stayed lit for several seconds.

"He doesn't want to see you."

The familiar voice snarked at him from his left and Sam threw an furious glance at the King of Hell before hitting the call button for the elevator again.

"He's happy now," Crowley went on, gazing at him with something like sympathy but not quite. "He's who he always thought he was, deep down. He's free."

"Leave me alone, Crowley," Sam growled threateningly. "Stay out of my way."

"Or you'll what, Moose? Or you'll kill me? Your brother might take issue with that, you know. He and I are besties now. He needs me."

"I seriously doubt that," Sam snapped. "Dean doesn't need you."

"Face the new reality, Sam," Crowley huffed. "You're out, I'm in. You told Dean you didn't want to be his brother anymore, and look what happened! He's got his priorities straight at last. No stupid floppy-haired little bro holding him back anymore. He's a new man."

The elevator door finally slid open and Sam charged in, slamming his finger onto the six and the close door buttons at the same time.

"I'm telling you, Sam, you'd better be prepared," Crowley warned as the doors slid closed against his smarmy English face.

Goddamn Crowley. Fuck him.

Sam knew he didn't really have a plan. The plan was to get to Dean. The plan was to convince Dean to come back to him, to let Sam fix him. The plan was to get to Dean and fix everything between them, make them okay again. Because after spending the last few weeks apart, not knowing what had happened or where Dean had gone, Sam just wanted his brother back. However he could get him.

When the doors opened on the sixth floor it only took Sam a minute to figure out which room was Dean's. Because of course he would embrace this new thing he had become, just go the whole nine yards with it.

Sam stopped in front of Room 666 for only as long as it took him to jimmy the lock, then slowly opened the door.

The suite contained an empty sitting room with a closed door on the opposite wall, leading into the bedroom, from which emanated the all-too familiar sounds of Dean having sex. He was obviously making it a quickie -- the moans and banging sounds as the bed hit the wall hard and fast were already pretty close to orgasmic, and Sam stood stock still, hesitating to walk in on what he knew would only take another minute anyway.

Sure enough, there was the little hitch as Dean bit off a moan and held his breath as he came, going still and holding himself rigid in the moment before, then the slower rocking sounds as he came down off the high, a little low laugh as he pulled himself out and off the bed, the girl's higher-pitched disappointment when it was obvious Dean wasn't delivering the goods, just taking his own pleasure and walking away.

Then the door flung open and there was Dean, wrapping himself in a hotel bathrobe, obviously naked underneath, skin flushed and hair mussed and so, so alive Sam gasped, his eyes filling with tears against his will.

"Dean -- "

The word slipped out before Sam could stop it, caught on a sob.

Dean's gaze swept up and down Sam's body, taking him in with a raised eyebrow.

"You look like shit, Sam," he commented dryly, as if he'd just left Sam a minute ago, not a whole two months.

Sam watched helplessly as Dean crossed to the table by the couch, poured himself a whisky and slammed it back in a single gulp. After all the searching, all the interviews and research, the past couple of days with Jensen -- after all that, to finally see Dean again and have him be so nonchalant, so obviously not excited to see him --

Okay, he could live with that. Probably deserved it after the cold shoulder he'd given Dean, after all the hurtful things he'd said, knowing he was hurting Dean, doing it anyway.

Yeah, Sam definitely deserved this non-reunion.

"What are you doing here, Sam?"

Dean had turned, was looking at him expectantly, coolly, not a shred of emotion in his huge green eyes.

"You're alive, Dean," Sam found his voice, wished it didn't sound so choked and shaken. "You were dead. I held you while you died. I left you on your bed and you were dead, Dean. What -- what happened to you? Why didn't you tell me? Why did you just leave and not tell me where you were, or even that you were alive? I've spent the past two months looking for you. Been using everything I could think of to track you down -- "

"Yeah, I heard about your little boyfriend," Dean nodded, tiny smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He poured himself another glass of whiskey, knocked it down.

"You -- what?" Sam was taken off guard, and Dean grinned, lowered his eyes.

"It's okay, Sammy, I don't mind," he said. "You can have your little fling. It's probably a good thing. A little weird, maybe, but that's you."

"We're not -- he's not -- "

"I guess I should feel flattered, or relieved or something," Dean went on. "But you know what? I just don't care."

He raised his eyes to Sam again, and the look he gave his brother was so dark, so unreadable, it sent shivers up Sam's spine. For the first time Sam could see the alien consciousness there, the dark, twisted thing that had taken root in Dean's soul.

"You shouldn't have come here, Sam," Dean said with a little shake of his head.

"I had to see you -- " Sam started, fighting back the urge to grab onto Dean, to pull his body in and never let go.

"I know," Dean nodded. "I know you did, and now you have. And now you need to leave."

"Dean, whatever's happened to you, we can fix it," Sam tried again, desperation beginning to claw its way out of his chest. "Just come home with me, Dean. Come back to the bunker and let's figure this out. Together."

Dean was shaking his head, lowering his eyes again, muttering, "No, no, no.

"Sam, you don't get it," he said when he looked up again. "I don't want to be fixed. This is me now. I'm finally myself. I'm who I was always meant to be."

"You don't mean that," Sam insisted. "Dean, this isn't you -- "

"Yeah, Sammy, it is," Dean snapped, finally showing some emotion. "Now I don't want to hurt you, but if you don't leave me alone, if you can't let me go, I'll do what I have to. It's over, Sam. You and me -- that thing between us -- it's done. I'm free. You're free. Just go live your life. Forget about me. Cuz that's what I'm doing, and until you showed up it was all going fine."

Dean's words were making no sense, but they were heightening Sam's desperation beyond all reasonable limits, threatening to split him open and rip his insides into tiny shreds.

"You don't mean that -- " Sam gasped.

"Yeah, Sam, I do," Dean insisted, voice low and dark. "This is what I want. Now are you gonna respect that or are you gonna need a little convincing?"

The threat was obvious, and it sent a shockwave of adrenaline through Sam's system. Dean knew Sam, knew what he was capable of, and he was ready. Sam, on the other hand, had only a peripheral understanding of Dean's new demon strength, could only guess at the extent of his power. Sam knew he was at a disadvantage, had hoped that he could get through to Dean if he just had a chance to talk to him.

But now he could see the resolve in Dean's face, the set of his jaw and the steely gaze, ripe with the promise of hair-trigger violence.

Which is when the bedroom door opened behind Dean and the blond woman poked her head out, pulling the lapels of her bathrobe up around her neck.

"Are you coming back to bed -- Oh!" she exclaimed when she saw Sam. "I didn't know you had company!" She ran her eyes up and down Sam's tall frame and smirked, apparently liking what she saw. "Who's your friend?"

"I'm his brother," Sam announced adamantly, clenching his fists almost unconsciously, daring Dean to deny it.

"He was just leaving," Dean lowered his chin and lifted his eyebrows warningly. "Right, Sam?"

"Oh, what a shame," the woman cooed, sliding her arm up the door and striking a pose, one slim leg exposed provocatively. "We like company. Don't we, Deany?"

Both Winchesters ignored her, gazes locked on each other, both on alert for a moment's advantage. Sam knew that Dean would wait for Sam to make the first move, and Sam knew his only chance was to catch Dean off-guard, which Dean was prepared for, so they were at an impasse and Sam was feeling more desperate by the second, wondering how long he would last if he just took a running lunge head-on (not long, he was pretty sure).

Then he got his chance.

Someone was yelling, out in the hall, then throwing themselves against the door, yelling, and in the split second it took Dean to raise his eyes questioningly at the door, Sam took a flying leap at his brother.

Things happened fast after that. Sam was so focused on slapping the other end of his devil's trap handcuffs on his brother's wrist he barely heard the blond woman scream as the door flew open and several demons tumbled into the room, scrambling to grab ahold of the man who was yelling -- the man with Dean's voice, Dean's face -- 

Jensen.

"Sam! Sam! Help!"

Jensen had been screaming his name the whole time, Sam realized vaguely, but now that he had Dean, now that he had knocked him down with the sheer force of his body and Dean was on the floor and Sam was on top of him, holding him down with his weight as he held his wrists in a death grip --

Time slowed down, the room fell away, and for an eternity that lasted only a moment, Sam and Dean were pressed together, their bodies fitting perfectly as they always had, even when Sam was the smaller one. Sam took a deep breath, breathing in the familiar smell of his brother, behind the overwhelming scent of sulfur and sex, as he buried his face in Dean's neck, knowing as he did it that Dean was allowing this -- he could easily have turned his head and bitten Sam's ear off -- but he was lying still, taking his brother's weight, letting him press his body along the length of Dean's, letting him snap the handcuff onto his wrist --

Sam felt the exact moment Dean's body tensed, felt his leg come up and wrap around Sam's in a movement that was at once intimate and masterful, felt the moment Dean's wrists yanked out of his grasp and he found himself heaved off and thrown down in one smooth, powerful movement, so that now Dean was on top, smiling down at Sam as he held him in place, letting him feel how much stronger Dean was now.

"You're gonna have to do better than that, Sammy," Dean murmured, barely winded, while Sam was panting and sweating like a horse. "Didn't you do your homework? These things can't hold me."

Holding Sam down with one forearm, Dean pulled their joined wrists between them until he could reach the cuff with his other hand, then easily crushed the steel chain in his fist, yanking it loose as if it were made of string, gazing into Sam's eyes while he did it, so that the display of strength held a kind of erotic charge that sent a stab of lust through Sam's entire body.

"Holy water, devil's traps -- none of it works on me, Sam," Dean spoke quietly, only to Sam, and the intimacy was like an offering, an intense reminder of the emotional bond between them and no one else.

Sam was so hard he was afraid to move, fearing that any little friction could set him off. He closed his eyes and swallowed, fighting for control over his own body.

But Dean could feel it, knew exactly what Sam was feeling. When Sam dared to open his eyes again Dean was smirking, and when he was sure Sam was watching, blackness flowed into his eyes until they were a solid shell of glistening obsidian, and Sam could see himself reflected in them.

Sam gasped reflexively, every instinct telling him to flee, to fight -- his hunter's training screaming at him to kill the monster -- while his body reacted as it always did to having his brother's body pressed against his, thrusting up painfully so that he was almost cross-eyed with need.

"You wanna fuck me, Sam?" Dean's voice was low, husky with lust. "You want mindless sex without any emotional strings attached, brother? Cuz I can do that now, even with you. That what you want? Like you did with me before you got your soul back, remember? I could mess with you, Sam. Like you did to me."

An anguished sob tore from Sam's throat as Dean's words brought back memories that were more painful for Sam than anything he could recall -- wished with all his soul he couldn't remember. His beautiful brother vulnerable and desperate, needing Sam and missing him and Sam without his soul just taking advantage of that --

"This isn't you," Sam hissed. "You would never do that to me."

Dean's eyes had gone back to their normal color, and he was still smiling, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes; in fact, it lacked any warmth at all.

"You wanna test that theory, little brother? 'Cuz I'm pretty sure I could, if that's what you want."

And part of Sam wanted -- definitely wanted -- would take Dean anyway he could get him, even if it meant this loveless, twisted creature holding him down and rubbing slowly against him. Sam was still enough of a monster himself to know he deserved Dean this way, unable to love him, more than willing to abuse him and take advantage of his desperation and longing.

And Sam couldn't help it; he wanted to be used like that, was convinced deep down that he was damaged goods and all he was good for was more abuse, more of what Lucifer had done to him in the cage -- Sam was sure he could take that from Dean, that right now it was exactly what he needed; it was exactly the punishment designed uniquely for him after what he did to make Dean this way in the first place.

Giving in to demon!Dean was his special atonement.

But when he lifted his eyes to Dean's, knowing he was surrendering his soul to this demon which was his brother now, ready to say yes forever if that's what it took -- something happened. Dean read the look in Sam's eyes, read the surrender and acquiescence and resignation of a true martyr in Sam's expression -- and it was like a switch was flipped in his head. Dean's expressive eyes flashed with pain and -- something almost human -- but it was so fast Sam couldn't be certain, wasn't sure if he just imagined it or if he really saw the look of self-doubt there that was almost familiar.

Then Dean was off him, yanking him to his feet and pushing away from him, and Sam was confused for a moment, intent on catching Dean's eyes again although Dean was looking away and seemed determined not to look at Sam again.

Sam was vaguely aware of Jensen and the demons who were holding him, standing to the side well away from the brothers but watching them intently. He was aware of the woman huddled behind the bedroom door, peeking out and watching them with a look of trepidation and dread, if not out-right fear.

But mostly Sam was aware of Dean, of the fact that Dean was not following through on his threat, was withdrawing from his almost-promise to -- well, it couldn't be called rape if Sam was consenting, but Sam couldn't really let Dean do that to him anyway, he realized suddenly. Not because Sam didn't deserve it, but because the Dean that Sam knew and loved would be irreparably damaged if he did that to his little brother, and Sam just couldn't let that happen.

And whatever moment of clarity Sam had just seen in Dean's eyes -- whatever had prevented him from following through with his threat and taking what he wanted from Sam without regard for Sam as a person -- just like he had done with the nameless blond woman a few minutes before -- Sam held onto that, wanted to see it again, clung to the belief that somehow the Dean he knew was still here.

"Dean -- "

Sam needed his brother's eyes again, needed him to look up and prove to him that he was really there after all, because Sam would move heaven and earth to get him back if he could just --

Sam would move heaven and earth for Dean anyway, no matter what he had become.

Hell too.

It was that look of total determination on Sam's face that Dean saw when he finally looked up.

And the blow that came immediately was so sudden Sam didn't have a chance, wasn't even awake long enough to register the fact that Dean punched him, hard on the side of the head, and Sam was out cold before he could form another thought.

*  
Sam came to slowly, with a blazing head-ache and blurry vision, and it took him more than a minute to focus on the face hovering above him.

His brother's face.

"Sam? Sam? Come on, Sam, wake up. Oh Jesus. Come on, Sam. Please."

Dean's voice, but something off about it --

Jensen.

Sam blinked, clearing his vision, forcing the head-ache to the back of his consciousness.

The actor was kneeling on the floor next to him, his expression tight with worry, his skin pale and probably clammy with shock -- Sam reached up to touch his face, just checking, and yes, he was soaked in sweat, yet cold at the same time.

Jensen winced a little at Sam's touch, but didn't flee, and after the initial shock he actually leaned into Sam's hand, his eyes softening a little.

"You okay?"

Sam's voice was hoarse, like he'd been screaming, and he cleared it as he watched Jensen's face, watched the actor nod and give him a shaky smile.

"Thought you were dead for a minute there," Jensen said. "Thought he killed you."

Sam shook his head, wincing at the pain, and pulled his hand back reflexively so he could rub his temple, cover his eyes for a minute.

"Nah," he said, voice still raspy and weak. "Not in the script, remember?"

He opened his eyes again, fighting the pain, and glanced around the room briefly.

Empty.

"Where'd they go?" he asked, trying to sit up.

Jensen reached to help him, and Sam let him, allowed the familiar-yet-different feel of Jensen's arms and hands be his only comfort for now as he dealt -- or didn't deal -- with what was happening.

Jensen was shaking his head as he pulled Sam to sitting.

"I don't know, man. They just disappeared."

"Did he -- " Sam cleared his throat again, swept his hand through his hair. "Did he say anything to you?"

Jensen's eyes met Sam's, and they were so not Dean's it amazed Sam that he had ever thought they looked alike. Same green depths, same brush of freckles across his nose, standing out against his pale skin, but the resemblance stopped there.

Dean never looked so lost and terrified. At least not when he thought Sam was looking.

"He -- He said, 'I don't know whether I should kill you or thank you,'" Jensen stammered. "Then he said, 'Just keep him away from me.'"

When Jensen repeated Dean's words his delivery was spot on, sending shivers up Sam's spine; for the first time he could see the actor in his role, a role he obviously knew well and could slip into as easily as slipping on an over-sized leather jacket. It struck Sam that Jensen probably understood Dean better than anyone, besides Sam himself, and that they shared that, if nothing else. Which meant he intimately understood the bond between the brothers; he really got them.

It made Sam's head throb with pain, close his eyes and suck in a breath as he rubbed his temple.

Sam was vaguely aware of Jensen getting up, hurrying into the bathroom, muttering about finding him some pain relievers, and Sam pulled himself up on the back of the couch so he was standing on wobbly legs by the time Jensen came back, bottle of pills and glass of water in his hands.

"Thanks," Sam acknowledged as he took the pills, drank down the water, nodded at Jensen's worried look.

"Are you okay?" he asked again. "Did he -- did they -- How did you get here, anyway?"

Jensen's eyes grew wide and round again, his mouth trembled, and his skin got paler, if that was even possible.

"They came to the motel," he stammered, his voice breaking as he relived the terror. "They grabbed me and put me in the trunk of their car and brought me here. I -- I got away from them in the lobby and ran up the stairs -- "

"But -- how did they get into the motel room? I left it protected."

Jensen's gaze dropped guiltily.

"I -- I went out to get some ice," he admitted, shrugging a little and shaking his head. "It was stupid, I know. I didn't think they'd be right there, you know?"

Sam frowned, rubbing his head.

"They must have followed us, waited for you to come out," he speculated. "Dean must've sent them. Or Crowley. Dean obviously knew about you."

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, kneaded the sore muscles there, while Jensen watched anxiously.

"I could give you a back rub," he suggested. "I've had lessons in message therapy. I'm pretty good."

Sam raised his eyes, stared blankly at the actor for a minute, then shook his head.

"You are a really weird guy, you know that, right?" he said, not unkindly, and Jensen blushed, dropped his gaze to the floor, shifted his stance uncomfortably.

"I just think you could use a little stress relief right now," he mumbled apologetically, clearly embarrassed to be caught flirting -- or possibly flirting -- with the brother of his doppelganger.

"What I need right now is to find my brother," Sam sighed. "Do you have any idea where he went?"

"Possibly," Jensen sighed.

But of course the story line was changed now, as Sam well knew, and Dean seemed to understand who Jensen was -- that the actor was full of intel about Dean's whereabouts and doings.

So if Dean didn't want to be found, all he had to do was deviate from the original script.

The whole thing was making Sam's headache worse.

For now, as much as Sam hated back-pedaling, it was obvious that the thing to do was to regroup and cut their losses. He let Jensen help him out of the room after meticulously searching for clues and finding nothing, of course. The demons had all checked out together, obviously following Dean's lead, and Crowley was nowhere to be found either. The lobby was strangely quiet without them, but Sam well knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was because Dean had given explicit instructions that they were to be left alone.

Nonetheless, Sam breathed a sigh of relief when they got to the car.

He tossed the keys to Jensen, unwilling to take a chance behind the wheel with his blurry vision and weak knees, and Jensen accepted the challenge with only a slight nod, much to his credit, mustering what looked like confidence as he slipped behind the wheel.

"You don't want to see what Dean's done to the Impala," he noted as Sam slid in beside him. "It's just about the saddest part of this whole thing. Well -- besides you, of course."

Sam was too tired and sick to respond; he slumped down in the seat, miserably rearranging his long legs into their least uncomfortable position, then leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes.

Jensen must've had a pretty good sense of direction, or the GPS on his phone was still working, even if none of the numbers in it still did, which was just weird because who was paying the bill in this universe where Jensen Ackles didn't even exist --

Sam's headache was getting worse and worse, and he wasn't even aware when they finally pulled into the parking lot of the motel and Jensen came around to his side and opened the door, reached in to help him get out, pulled his arm over Jensen's shoulders so he could lean on the actor as Jensen slid his arm around Sam's waist. With the warm familiarity of Jensen's body pressed against him, of his hand on Sam's chest as he steadied him -- Sam found himself leaning into Jensen as he walked him into the motel room, laid him gently on the bed, removed his shoes and pulled the cover around him. Sam was drifting back into a fitful, painful sleep even as he was aware of Jensen standing over him, looking down with what Sam knew was a worried expression -- even without knowing the actor very well, he understood why Jensen would look at him that way, what made Jensen care in the first place.

Jensen cared because he understood Dean. And right now he understood how much Dean had hurt Sam, well beyond the blow to the head. Jensen could see the real blow was to Sam's heart.

Which explained the gentle fingers Sam felt in his hair, just skimming softly for a moment, soothing and sending him off the edge into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* 

When Sam woke it was dark, his headache was gone, and a warm, familiar body lay sleeping against him.

Sam turned instinctively toward the comforting warmth, snuggling in and pressing his face against a cloth-covered shoulder. His sleep-addled brain screamed "brother," and when he tried to remember why it felt like it had been months since Dean was in his bed, he just couldn't. Didn't want to. Having Dean here was too important to think about too deeply, and the vague dull ache in his brain warned him not to think too much about it this time, just to be grateful.

Still half-asleep, he slid one hand up the warm expanse of chest -- Dean was wearing his tee-shirt and boxers, as he usually did -- and into the short, fine hairs at the back of his neck, holding his head so Sam could slide up and bury his face in the sweat-damp skin of his throat, breathing in deeply.

Sam was already hard, and as he slid one leg between Dean's he thrust a little against his hip, sending shock waves of need thrumming through his body and gasping out a low moan against Dean's skin. For some reason he couldn't remember he was still fully clothed, and Dean's near-nakedness pressed along his denim and flannel frame was sending serious lust-fogged signals through his body. That, combined with the certainty that it had been months since they'd last had sex -- didn't want to remember why that was, just be grateful he's here now -- made Sam harder and needier than he could remember feeling since he was a horny teenager.

Dean was awake now -- he was tipping his neck back to give Sam better access, and he was stroking Sam's arm where it lay across his chest. Sam lifted his head to look down into Dean's face, caught his eyes glistening in the gloom, the only light coming in through a crack in the curtain from outside. Dean watched Sam as he pulled off his shirts, dropped them off the side of the bed and Dean's eyes moved down over Sam's chest, his lips parting as his breath hitched. Sam leaned down to capture Dean's soft, full lips, sliding his tongue inside the wet heat of Dean's mouth, licking and tasting sleep and toothpaste and Dean, Dean, Dean --

Sam was thrusting and grinding against Dean's hip now, but it wasn't enough; he surged up, tearing his mouth away so he could reach down to unbutton his jeans and Dean watched him, helped him push his jeans down his hips, then kick them off, followed by his boxers, so that now Sam was the one who was naked against the thin cloth of Dean's sleepwear. Dean was staring at his cock, his mouth open, lips glistening with spit as Sam knelt between his legs, stroking himself as he gazed down for a moment, just drinking Dean in. When Dean's eyes finally raised to his Sam smiled, reading the awe and lust in his brother's gaze. He reached down and tugged at Dean's shirt, and Dean complied with the unspoken command, sitting up a little so he could pull off the tee-shirt, wiggle out of his boxers, letting Sam push him back onto the bed, spread out beneath him so Sam was still kneeling between his legs but now they were both naked.

Which is when Sam remembered.

Because of course Dean's chest was bare, lacking any scars or tattoos.

Because this wasn't Dean.

This was Jensen.

And Sam had known all along, wasn't really lying to himself; it was more like wishful thinking after those first few waking moments when reality sunk in and he remembered, but he kept pretending because Jensen was playing along the way only an actor could -- and really, it was pretty obvious Jensen wanted this, so it wasn't like he was manipulating anybody.

Well, except maybe himself.

But Sam was too desperate and grief-stricken to think straight, and things were pretty far along now anyway, so instead of stopping, as he might have done a few years ago, before everything went all to hell and Sam's slippery slope had become a fuckin' MegaSlide, he reached down and took Jensen's dick in his hand, giving it a few quick jerks, watching Jensen squirm and gasp, eyes flutter closed as his hands clutched reflexively at the sheets, tossing his head back to expose his neck.

Sam leaned down, still working Jensen's dick, and licked a long line up his chest, over one pink nipple, then the other, worrying them one at a time with his teeth and tongue while Jensen gasped and twisted under him, bucking up into his mouth. He let his teeth sink in a little harshly over the left one, marking the place where the anti-possession tattoo would be if this were really Dean -- just so Jensen knew, just so he understood.

And Jensen knew. His breath hitched when Sam's teeth sunk into his skin and his hand twisted a little as he jerked his cock, so that when Sam finally raised his head to look down into Jensen's eyes, there was understanding there.

Sadness too, which Sam wasn't expecting.

Jensen was grieving with him.

Which was so wrong Sam didn't even know how to respond.

"Goddamn it," he hissed, needing to punish Jensen for his presumption, but finding his cheeks suddenly wet with tears instead as he read the sympathy in the actor's beautiful eyes.

Dean's eyes.

Oh this was so confusing. So wrong and so crazy in so many ways.

For a moment Sam stared down helplessly, feeling the grief building in his chest like a tidal wave of longing, building and building until he knew it would break forth and drown him any minute.

Jensen lay completely still, breathing still ragged, waiting patiently for Sam to decide whether he was going to fuck or weep, clearly okay with it either way.

For another minute Sam stared down at him, still holding Jensen's half-hard dick in his hand. 

"Please, Sam," Jensen said softly. "Please fuck me."

And maybe it was his tone of voice -- sounding so desperate, the way Sam felt, or the way Sam had heard Dean's voice other times when he was being particularly needy and vulnerable and Sam just had to give Dean what he needed -- and it was so confusing but Sam was so done with trying to figure out why he was doing what he was doing, so done with THINKING about everything until his head hurt so that he could hardly think anymore, so done with being the brains of this outfit because there was no outfit anymore because DEAN HAD LEFT HIM GODDAMN IT AND WHAT THE FUCK!

And what Jensen was offering was -- what the hell was it? A pity fuck?

Whatever it was, whatever Jensen's motivation for offering it, it was obvious the actor wanted it. Clearly Jensen was asking for it and Sam had his permission to pretend he was making love with his brother if he wanted.

And Sam was just so done trying to figure this out.

Sam had the condom and the lube and was doing what he needed to do before Jensen had a chance to change his mind, not that there seemed to be much chance of that. From the way Jensen pushed back against Sam's fingers as he opened him up, there was very little chance he was really planning to object. In fact, it was pretty clear that Jensen had been waiting for this for a very, very long time.

Which didn't make sense but Sam was beyond making sense at this point.

Sam's fingers pushed and scissored and thrust until they found the spot that made Jensen's whole body go taut like a bow-string. Sam leaned down to capture Jensen's mouth as he worked his ass and his dick, capturing the actor's moans and gasps in his mouth, sucking and biting at his lips until they were red and impossibly swollen. Jensen pushed himself up on his elbows so he could follow Sam's kiss when he raised his head to gaze down Jensen's body, taking in the familiar planes of his chest and abs, his strong thighs spread wide. Sam watched his own hands working Jensen's dick and ass, watched his long fingers disappear into Jensen's hot, tight hole, glistening with lube.

Sam was hitting Jensen's sweet spot every time now, making the actor gasp and arch up against Sam's hand, his whole body going taut and shaking each time.

"Come on -- " Jensen stuttered, his voice low and breathy. "Come on -- I'm gonna -- Oh god --"

Sam let go of Jensen's dick long enough to slip on the condom and the lube, then lined himself up, pushing Jensen's knees back as he thrust past the tight muscle and into Jensen's waiting hole.

The tight heat hugging his dick was almost too much for Sam, and he went still for a moment, fighting the sudden tightening in his balls, the urge to come almost overwhelming. It had just been too long, longer than he'd gone without sex since -- 

Not thinking about that.

"It's okay -- it's okay -- " Jensen was whispering a litany of reassurances, and Sam looked down at him as the blackness receded again, watched Jensen's jaw clench and his hands scramble at the sheets as Sam pushed into him, slowly at first, giving him time to adjust, then sinking hard and sudden for the last few inches, hitting Jensen's prostate and eliciting an arching gasp from the actor and a small release of precome from his bursting cock.

"Okay, okay," Jensen murmured again, eyes flying open as Sam bottomed out, throwing his head back and exposing the tight muscles of his neck.

Sam bent down and pressed his mouth against Jensen's throat, just below his ear, sucking and licking at the skin as he began to move, rolling his hips back and driving into Jensen's body again. He felt Jensen's responsive shudder and it made Sam smile against his skin; Dean was sensitive there too, and his skin was just as silky smooth in that spot, same taste of salt and sweat and pulsing blood just beneath the surface. Sam lowered his belly against Jensen's dick as he started up a rhythm, fucking into him slowly at first, the muscles of his belly rubbing Jensen's dick, keeping his mouth on Jensen's neck, sucking in time with his thrusts until he hit his sweet spot again, eliciting a long stuttering gasp and another sharp arch of Jensen's perfect body. Sam took advantage of the space to slip his arm around the actor's back, hugging him tightly to increase the friction to Jensen's dick, raising his head to look down into Jensen's face, reading there the blissed-out expression Sam knew so well on his brother.

"Need you to come for me now," Sam murmured breathlessly, sliding his free hand along Jensen's jaw, curling his fingers around the back of his neck.

Jensen's eyes fluttered open, met Sam's with a startled look of recognition, then he went rigid in Sam's arms, grabbing onto Sam's biceps for support, his entire body shuddering as his eyes fluttered closed and his breath caught.

"Fuck -- "

The strangled cry tore from Jensen's throat as his dick twitched uncontrollably against Sam's stomach. Sam's eyes slid closed as his own orgasm built, crested in a shuddering moment in which time seemed to stand still and Sam was aware of his grief and love for his brother with such intense clarity that nothing else mattered.

He heard himself sobbing Dean's name as he came, tears slipping down his cheeks as he bent his head instinctively to capture those soft lips in his, to ride out his orgasm with the ghost of his brother's breath mingling with his.

In his half-conscious, heavy-lidded post-orgasmic state he was vaguely aware of Jensen breathing a single word into his mouth as he came down from his own orgasm.

"Jay."

*

Afterwards they lay tangled together, breath slowly returning to normal, until Sam had the energy to roll off and grab his tee-shirt off the floor, using it to wipe himself off and dispose of the condom, then wiping at the mess on Jensen's belly till Jensen covered Sam's hand with his own and rolled onto his side, pulling Sam's arm with him and hugging it to his chest, so that Sam found himself curled around Jensen's backside, effectively spooning him as Jensen snuggled, then fell promptly asleep.

Sam lay quietly against the warm body, pressing his lips against the back of Jensen's neck, taking comfort from his warmth and familiarity, and wondering how things had gotten so fucking complicated.

On the one hand, he was grateful to have Jensen's company. He'd been alone for so long it felt like a kind of punishment, a self-imposed solitary confinement.

On the other hand, Jensen's presence made him miss Dean more than ever.

And getting him back to his own dimension was harder than just reversing the spell he'd used to bring Jensen here in the first place. Sam had used serious black magic to get Jensen here. Getting him back -- returning Jensen to his own world -- that was going to take even more black magic. And Sam wasn't sure how far he was willing to go down that slippery slope, especially if it didn't have anything to do with getting Dean back in the first place.

Jensen was just going to have to get used to being here, for the time being.

Which made what they had just done tonight much more complicated than Sam had intended.

Not that he'd been using his upstairs brain much tonight anyway.

Damn it.

And who the fuck was 'Jay'?


	4. Chapter 4

Over breakfast the next morning, Sam found out.

They hadn't talked much when they woke up, avoided each other's eyes and took turns ducking into the shower, then headed to the diner together without talking much. For Sam, it felt weirdly normal, felt like any other morning after a particularly emotional night with Dean, when there was always a lot of macho posturing and denial and pretending nothing had happened.

But with Jensen it was different.

Jensen was nervous, Sam could tell, but also determined to play out the scene the way Sam wanted, giving in to Sam's lead. So if Sam didn't start talking about it, Jensen wasn't going to bring it up.

Sam finally figured he'd better say something.

"So -- " Sam cleared his throat, shifted uncomfortably on his side of the table.

Jensen looked up, startled, like a deer caught in the headlights, green eyes huge over the rim of his coffee cup.

Sam put his fork down, pushed his plate away. Okay, they'd managed not to talk for well over an hour now, and if it wasn't going to become impossible, it had to stop now. Sam knew that from years of living with Dean, and this didn't feel that different.

Weirder, maybe.

Definitely weirder.

"So I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that 'Jay' is the other actor, the one who plays me," he suggested.

Seemed like an easy enough way to start the ball rolling.

Jensen blushed to the roots of his hair, looked down at his coffee and didn't look up again.

"Yeah, I guess," he finally admitted in a low, rumbling voice that was like a salve on Sam's jangled nerves.

Sam closed his eyes for a moment, trying to tamp down the lust suddenly stabbing through his gut.

Because he actually fucked this man. Could probably do it again if he wanted.

Damn it.

"Okay, so I'm gonna guess you're carrying a torch for the guy, am I right?"

Jensen winced, still not looking up, but he hesitated a moment too long before shaking his head.

"No," he mumbled against his coffee cup. "He hates me."

"But you don't hate him," Sam suggested. "And like the song says, there's a thin line between hate and you-know-what. So I'm guessing you have a giant crush on this guy, and his feelings for you are a lot more complicated than you think."

"No!" Jensen looked up, wild-eyed and shuddering. "He can't stand me. Says I make him sick. He likes to hurt me when nobody's looking. He's a sadist."

Oh God, Sam thought, really not wanting to get into the details.

"Okay, but I heard what I heard, and last night you called his name when you -- " Sam sucked in a breath, closed his eyes for a minute. "So what I'm saying is -- last night wasn't just about me and Dean. There was something in it for you."

"Of course there was something in it for me," Jensen scoffed with feigned incredulity. "Hot sex."

Sam felt his mouth tighten, an automatic response when Dean made a bad joke or bluffed his way out of a serious topic, the way Jensen seemed to be doing right now.

"Huh," Jensen huffed incredulously, and Sam looked up and stared.

"What?" he demanded, trying to tamp down on his irritation.

"You really make that face," Jensen said with a smirk. "It's a real thing."

What the fuck?

"It's adorable," Jensen said, keeping his voice low and intimate.

"Okay, here's the thing." Sam struggled to gain control of the situation without bitch-slapping the actor, but it was proving to be pretty challenging. "We're gonna track down every lead you have, okay? Give it a week. If we don't find Dean, I'm taking you back to the bunker, finding a spell to send you home. You got me? That's the plan.

"And we're getting you an anti-possession tattoo. That's final."

Jensen was still smirking, and it was doing incredible things to his eyes.

"I love it when you take control, Sammy," he said in that sultry voice of his. "Makes me all warm and tingly inside."

Sam stared, shock washing through him like ice water.

"And you may not quote my brother to me!" he bellowed. "You get me? Off limits. And don't --" He closed his eyes, grappling with the lust and annoyance battling in his belly. "Don't ever call me that. Okay? Are we clear?"

Jensen held Sam's gaze another minute, then looked down as he gave a little roll of his eyes, pursing his lips and nodding once.

"Got it," he said. "No Dean impersonations."

"Come on," Sam said as he pulled out his wallet, effectively ending the conversation before he did something stupid like suggesting they go back to the motel for a quickie before they hit the road, which Sam did NOT WANT with every fiber of his being, goddamn it. No sir. "Let's get you that tattoo."

He got up and headed toward the door, totally missing the look of shock on Jensen's face as he got up to follow.

*  
Green River was a truck-stop, so it stood to reason there'd be a tattoo parlor. Sam let Jensen hold his hand as he sat in the chair next to him with his shirt off so the tattoo artist could copy Sam's tattoo.

"Now Jared will really hate me," Jensen whined as he let Sam lead him on wobbly legs back to the car. "And my career is over. I will never work again. No one will ever hire an actor with a tat from his previous job on his chest. I'm done for."

"You're welcome," Sam muttered with a roll of his eyes.

The car was already packed and ready, so they didn't speak again for some time, but the silence wasn't quite so tense now. Sam was relieved to confirm that Jensen's attraction to him was at least partly about "Jay," which somehow made their relationship less about meaningless sex and more about unrequited love and (in Sam's case) deliberate substitution.

It was still pretty fucked up, of course, but what part of Sam's life wasn't?

So Sam turned his attention to the job, letting the other thing go for the time being while Sam focused on finding Dean.

After a long, hot day of tracking leads, interviewing witnesses who may or may not remember seeing a guy who looked like Jensen -- and yeah, it was helpful having a live carbon copy to pull out instead of a one-dimensional photograph -- it was already clear that the trail was cold. Despite Sam's best efforts to remain professional, to treat this like any other missing persons case, by the end of the day he was exhausted and frustrated and no nearer finding Dean than he had been before Jensen appeared.

When they stopped for the night near Albuquerque it was so hot that even with the air-conditioning blasting at top speed they were both sweating. Sam pulled off his clothes and grabbed the first shower, then sat down on the bed with his laptop, clad only in a pair of boxer briefs. He pointedly ignored Jensen as long as he could, distantly aware of him taking his own shower, then coming out also wearing only a pair of boxers, rustling through his duffel for a clean bandage.

When Sam looked up, Jensen was standing at the foot of the bed, bandage in one hand, bottle of antiseptic in the other, looking miserable.

"It hurts," Jensen pouted accusingly, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Here, let me do it," Sam reached for the bandage and bottle, and Jensen reluctantly gave them to him, then stood as still as he could while Sam cleaned and re-bandaged the wound, staring at Sam's chest the whole time.

"There."

Sam stood back finally, satisfied, and Jensen turned his face up, lifted his eyes to Sam's, and Sam stifled a gasp.

Jensen's eyes had a fine film of tears over them. Water clung to his long lashes, and his parted lips were red and plump, his face with its high cheekbones and fine nose seemed thinner, almost delicate.

Nothing like Dean, Sam realized. Nothing at all like his rugged, tough-looking big bruiser of a brother. How he had ever seen a resemblance he couldn't imagine.

Sam's hand came up of its own volition and cupped Jensen's cheek, slid along his jaw and behind his neck, letting his thumb brush along the bone under Jensen's eye. Jensen put his hand over Sam's and leaned his face against it, closing his eyes.

"You're bigger than Jared," he said softly. "You have bigger muscles. Everywhere."

Sam looked down at Jensen's chest, his slim hips, his rounded ass and bow legs.

"Well, you're smaller than Dean," he said. "All over."

Jensen's pink tongue slipped out and ran between his lips as he opened his eyes again, looking up at Sam expectantly.

So fucked up, was all Sam could think as he lowered his mouth to Jensen's.

Jensen actually moaned as Sam kissed him, then stepped closer, sliding his hands up over Sam's chest and across his shoulders, down his back.

Jensen's hands were soft, sensitive, only callouses on the fingertips of his left hand, and Sam decided then and there to spend more time exploring -- to learn the differences intimately.

But right now Sam's sweat-damp skin was shooting sparks at Jensen's touch, and any idea that this would be something slow or gentle just went bye-bye because Jensen was stepping closer and it was freakin' hot and Jensen was hotter.

Okay, well at least this time he could tell them apart, Sam thought as he nipped and sucked at Jensen's mouth. Then Jensen's arms were around him and they were pressed chest-to-chest and Jensen made a tiny hurt sound in his throat as his bandaged tattoo rubbed against Sam and the sound was like a siren call straight to Sam's dick. He was instantly hard as a rock and growling into Jensen's mouth, then his hands were scooping the smaller man's perfect round ass, hefting his body up against Sam's, and Jensen spread his legs and let Sam pick him up, wrapping his legs around Sam's waist, his arms around Sam's shoulders, burying his hands in Sam's hair.

Jensen was lighter than Dean, now there could be no doubt, another difference that somehow comforted Sam and made this a little more okay. But Sam was kissing soft full lips that felt just like his brother's, and Jensen was a good kisser, no doubt about that. Sam could do this for hours, something Dean rarely allowed, and suddenly the possibilities were hitting Sam like a mac truck and he was walking toward the bed, Jensen still wrapped tightly around him, mouth still glued to his. When they reached their destination Jensen slid down, spread himself out on his back on the bed.

And damn it if Sam didn't follow him, taking only a minute to divest them both of their underwear, gazing down at Jensen's body with rapt attention to detail, mapping out every difference, finding smooth skin where Dean's body was scarred, skin that was pampered and well-cared for instead of Dean's rough surfaces, muscles that were used to massages and tai-chi instead of hard labor.

Well, Sam had left a few marks, and now the tattoo made a permanent one. Jensen was already different, and if Sam could figure out a way to send him home, he doubted things would ever be quite the same again.

"Stop thinking," Jensen admonished, sounding so much like Dean it brought tears to Sam's eyes.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he said in a rush, before he had time to think he probably shouldn't. "It's just so messed up and I miss Dean so much -- "

"I know," Jensen said softly. "It's okay."

He reached up, tucked Sam's hair behind his ear in a gesture of such simple affection it made Sam's heart flutter.

Goddamn it.

The sex was better this time, if that was possible. Jensen was so willing and Sam was so desperate and it felt so damn good to pretend to have his brother in his arms again that Sam couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to. It didn't hurt that Jensen had prepped himself in the shower, so he was loose and open and had obviously been hoping for this and Sam pushed easily into his waiting body, long moan of longing and homesickness ripping from his throat as he sank balls deep with a single thrust.

When he lifted his head to look down Jensen had his eyes closed, long lashes fanned out over his pale cheeks, skin so soft and smooth there, plump lips parted as he panted, nostrils flaring. His head was thrown back, exposing his neck, turned so Sam could just lean down and suck at that delicate spot below his ear.

It didn't take long for Sam to find the right angle, to pull gasps and grunts from Jensen's throat, and when Sam reached down between them to jack Jensen's dick, the actor arched up so Sam could slip his arm around his slim waist, hold his body close as he thrust, quickly finding the rhythm that gave Sam the response he needed.

It was wrong on a lot of levels, and maybe it was that wrongness that finally sent Sam over the edge, reminding him of those early days when he and Dean first admitted their feelings to each other, when they first started doing this and the wrongness of fucking his brother was hotter than it should be but somehow part of who they were, and that was the thing that was right about it.

Which never made sense because it really didn't need to. Sam and Dean together was just this timeless thing, beyond anything, outside the laws of man or nature.

As Sam's orgasm surged through him he pulled Jensen's body against him, accidentally rubbing his sore chest and eliciting a moan that was half-hurt, half-pleasure as Jensen came in his hand, spurting warm fluid all over their chests and bellies.

Sam lay still for a few moments afterwards, breathing hard, listening to the rattle of the ancient air-conditioner and grateful for the air moving on his overheated skin, drying the sweat and semen.

He was vaguely aware of Jensen getting up to go to the bathroom, then coming back with a warm, wet washcloth, cleaning him up carefully.

Sam reached for him when he was done and Jensen climbed willingly back into the bed, curled himself around Sam's body, tucking his head under Sam's chin, pressing his lips against Sam's chest.

As Sam drifted off to sleep his brain was doing that thing again, making him sure it was Dean's body curled up against him, Dean's warmth comforting him and letting him sleep, Dean's breath on his overheated skin, right over his heart.

* 

"I called my mother," Jensen admitted miserably at the diner the next morning. "My mother. She said 'Who?' when I told her it was me. My mom! My own mother doesn't know who I am. Damn it, Sam, I need to go home. Do you get me?"

"I never had a mother," Sam pointed out with a shrug.

"Goddamn it," Jensen mumbled, taking another bite of raw carrot.

Sam had to admit, watching Jensen eat -- or try to find something to eat -- at the diners where they stopped was almost as entertaining as watching Dean go orgasmic on bacon cheeseburgers. The actor asked endless questions of each harried waitress, getting her confirmation that his side orders of green beans, corn, baked potatoes without the sour cream and bacon, and green salad were not cooked in animal fat or prepared with any animal by-products like butter or cream. Jensen made Sam stop whenever he saw a farm stand so he could get fresh fruit, asking more questions about the way the food was grown before finally forking over Sam's money to the irritated farmers.

In fact, instead of being another difference between his brother and the actor, Jensen's obsession with food was actually something he had in common with Dean. Watching each dining scene unfold, Sam found it utterly amazing that the actor managed to eat at all, especially in the fried-food-only places they typically stopped at.

Sam was impressed, actually.

*

"So you left for college because your brother told you he didn't love you anymore?"

They were in the car and it was the third day out of Vegas. Jensen was trying to piece the picture together in his mind, and Sam was doing his best. He figured Jensen would do a better job if he understood what had really happened between Sam and Dean, all those years ago, so he was doing his best to be honest with the actor.

"Dean was being an idiot," Sam nodded. "He figured he could save me some pain and anguish if he pretended he didn't care about me anymore. I was young and in love and stupid enough to believe anything he said, so yeah. I bought it. It made a kind of sick sense at the time."

"So you figured out how you felt about him when you two were still teenagers," Jensen suggested.

Sam shrugged.

"I can't remember a time before I was in love with Dean," he admitted simply. "When I hit puberty, it was like being run over by a train. I was horny and obsessive and stubborn. Poor guy didn't have a chance."

"Somehow I don't think he minded," Jensen gave a small smile.

"Oh, he minded," Sam rolled his eyes. "He fended me off for a good year or two. Gave me a lot of lectures about being brothers, yada yada yada. Like our lives were so moral and law-abiding. Made me mad as hell, of course, especially when it was pretty obvious he felt the same way."

"But eventually you got through to him," Jensen suggested.

"Wore him down, more like," Sam said a bit ruefully. "I was pretty persistent. Not good at taking no for an answer."

Jensen was silent for a minute, staring out at the landscape.

"So -- and just tell me if this is too private, Sam, I'm just curious because we don't play it this way in the show but I always suspected -- I mean the only reason it isn't explicit, in my mind, is because the show is rated PG-13. So it's always there, in the subtext, but it can't be obvious because it's incest and we're not on HBO."

Sam glanced at the actor, who was biting his lip and frowning a little.

Distracting as all hell, as usual.

"I don't mind talking about it," Sam said honestly. "It's kind of a relief, actually. I mean, sometimes we're on a job and somebody assumes we're a gay couple, and that's okay with me -- although it drives Dean insane. But the brother thing -- it's always been our secret."

"Did Bobby know?" Jensen asked hesitantly, and Sam felt himself cringe.

"Yeah, I think he did," he admitted. "I mean, it wasn't exactly something we talked about with him, obviously, but yeah. I think he did."

"Jody?"

"Probably," Sam shrugged. "Yeah, I would say she definitely knows."

"Jeff? Er -- John? Your dad? God, that feels weird," Jensen muttered. "Your dad was -- is -- a good friend. I mean the actor. The guy who played your dad."

Sam glanced over, read the confusion on Jensen's face and shook his head.

"You know what's weird?" he answered. "It's knowing our dad's doppelganger is alive in another universe. I miss him almost as much as I miss Dean."

Jensen sucked in a breath.

"I'm sorry, man," he said softly. "Of course you do. I'm being an insensitive dick. Just tell me to shut up."

"Okay," Sam gave a short nod. "Shut up."

Jensen clamped his mouth shut and turned his head toward the window, giving Sam his profile again.

Sam clenched his jaw and refocused his attention on his driving. Despite the relief he felt at being able to share his personal life with Jensen, some things were just sacred. His dad definitely ranked high on that list, not only because he was dead, but because he had died for Dean -- for them. Sam could never repay that debt, the sacrifice his dad had made so that Sam could have his brother back, remembered explicitly the night he expressed his gratitude and grief, holding Dean's warm, naked body against him as he cried.

Yeah, definitely not talking about that.

*  
That night when Sam woke up Jensen was curled up against him, almost on top of him, and it took him a minute to untangle himself, pushing Jensen gently onto his back so he could get up to go to the bathroom.

Jensen whimpered a little in his sleep, and when Sam came back he was awake, lying still and watchful as Sam slipped back into the bed next to him, propping himself up on one elbow to look down into Jensen's beautiful face.

Jensen stared up as Sam brushed the backs of his fingers along Jensen's perfect jaw, studying the familiar-yet-different features.

"I thought you left," Jensen murmured. "I woke up and you were gone."

Sam shook his head and Jensen's lips parted; he was actually trembling, Sam realized. He bent his head and kissed the actor's soft lips, letting his tongue slip between them and glide easily against Jensen's before lifting his head again, needing to watch his face.

Sam could look at this face for a very, very long time.

Jensen reached up and tucked his hair back behind his ear, and now Sam was sure.

"You love him," Sam said simply, mesmerized by Jensen's expressive face.

Jensen blushed, drew his hand back and lowered his eyes, shifting uncomfortably, clearly caught out and preparing to deny it.

But Sam had seen the look in Jensen's face. It was the way Dean looked at him sometimes when he wasn't thinking about it, when he thought Sam wouldn't notice.

"You should tell him," Sam said. "When you get back. You have to tell him, Jensen."

Jensen shook his head, still looking away, so Sam reached down and took his chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping his face up to Sam's, waited patiently for Jensen to raise his eyes again.

When he finally did Sam nodded.

"He loves you, Jensen," Sam said. "Whatever happened between you to make this rift, he loves you. I can feel it."

Jensen was shaking his head.

"No, no," he mumbled. "He's not gay. When I -- I crossed the line one night, back when we were still living together -- I got drunk and came on pretty strong and he -- "

Jensen swallowed, fighting back tears, and Sam waited patiently again while Jensen collected his thoughts.

"He hit me," the actor admitted. "Called me a faggot and a fucked-up fruit-cake and an asshole fairy -- told me I was sick and to stay the hell away from him. Yeah, like that was possible with our jobs."

Sam shook his head.

"So he ran away," Sam suggested. "Emotionally. He was scared. But you two -- I'm telling you, you can't play us if you don't love each other. It's impossible. So he may say he doesn't care, he may tell you to fuck off, but you can bet underneath it all he's as crazy for you as you are for him. And now he's had time to think about it, to try other relationships -- I'm telling you, it's been eating him up inside this whole time."

Jensen was shaking his head, murmuring "no, no, no."

"You've got to try again, man," Sam insisted. "I know I'm right. Maybe you scared him before, maybe he never thought about it because he always assumed he was straight. But trust me, now that he's had time to think about it, and he still does these emotional scenes with you -- every goddamn time he does one of those scenes, he's thinking about it. Trust me. Even if you think it's just acting or whatever -- however unconsciously, he's hoping you'll make another move."

"No, no, no," Jensen's litany of denial wasn't quite so insistent anymore, and Sam was pretty sure he had the actor's attention. Maybe he was even getting through to him a little.

Sam stroked Jensen's chest gently, fingers feather soft over the tender skin where the tat was healing, over his heart.

"Well, it's your funeral," he tilted his head, gave a small shrug. "But I can tell you from experience, you keep that kind of thing inside like you're doing, eventually it'll kill you."

"I know," Jensen sighed.

*

They spent the rest of that fruitless week following every lead in Jensen's arsenal, driving to strip clubs, sleazy bars and motels, casinos and gambling parlors all over the southwest and midwest, all the places Jensen had read about in the t.v. scripts. They spent their nights in sleazy motels, fucking each other's brains out and trying not to think about the consequences.

Their last stops were in Seattle and Boise, where they interviewed random dudes with the names of writers from the other universe. Somehow that was even weirder for Jensen than the whole supernatural thing. He spent the entire half-hour interview with Jeremy Carver just staring with disbelief at what the top dog in his universe had been reduced to in this one.

"That guy is my boss," Jensen said as they got back into the car, Sam crossing Carver off the list in his head as yet another dead end.

Sam stared out at the comic-book shop, crammed into a corner of the dingy strip mall between a dollar store and a laundromat.

"We can't all be famous actors," he noted with a shrug.

"Or superhero monster-hunters," Jensen agreed.

He shook his head.

"At least he doesn't know," he said with a last glance at the dismal little shop as Sam pulled out of the parking lot. "He'll never know his life amounted to something somewhere else. How sad is that?"

"Maybe not as bad as being sci-fi porn film writers," Sam suggested, referring to their last stop in Seattle, where they'd learned a little too much about what the doppelgangers for SPN writers Robbie Thompson and Adam Glass were up to in this universe, so to speak.

Jensen had to agree with him there.

"So where to now?" he asked finally, as Sam pulled out onto the interstate, heading east.

Sam sighed.

"Now, we go home," he said, shrugging his shoulders and letting them sink as he hunched over the steering wheel, wishing he could just curl up in the passenger seat and pass out.

Jensen was watching him, observing. The actor had gotten pretty good at reading him over the past week or so. Sam had to admit he wasn't minding having him along as much as he thought he would.

"Pull over at the next rest stop," Jensen suggested. "I'll drive."

Sam shot a glance at him, saw Dean's frown, Dean's worried look.

Goddamn it. This was getting worse. The whole thing with Jensen was one major distraction, and Sam was letting himself fall for it.

He wondered -- not for the first time -- if Crowley had anything to do with Jensen's being here. Because giving Sam a substitute brother would be just the thing Crowley might come up with as a way to keep Sam occupied and compensated.

Because as a consolation prize, despite Jensen's flaws, Sam had to admit the actor was growing on him.

Which was so wrong in so many ways Sam didn't want to think about it too much.

Which was why they were headed back to the bunker. Because it was time for Jensen to leave. It was time to get him back where he belonged.

*

When they stopped for the night Sam was so tired and frustrated he let Jensen undress him, then take care of him with whispered reassurances and the best blow job he'd had all year. Looking down his body, watching Jensen's stupidly gorgeous mouth wrapped around his dick, Sam decided he was the world's biggest asshole because this was just about the most perfect thing and he couldn't pretend it wasn't.

And after coming with a gut-punched cry into that incredible mouth and Jensen just swallowing, goddamn it if the actor seemed to know exactly what Sam needed, going down on the aforementioned hole with such gusto it brought tears to Sam's eyes.

And when Jensen dragged a condom on and lubed himself well, then pushed into Sam's well-licked hole, Sam burst into tears, sobbing like a baby as Jensen fucked him, held him, whispered and kissed him until his body gave up another orgasm and Jensen cried out as he came shortly after.

Sam was only dimly aware as Jensen cleaned him up and tucked clean sheets around him, then climbed in next to him, pulling him in with arms and legs wrapped around his body, the way Dean used to do when he was little because it made him feel safe and it was the only way he could sleep.

*  
When they got back to the bunker the next day, Sam got right down to the job of sending Jensen home. And once Sam set his mind to it -- really thought it out -- the solution came pretty quickly after all. Reversing the spell was stupidly simple, and so easy Sam was embarrassed to admit it to Jensen. Because the truth of the matter was, if Sam hadn't been so obsessed with finding Dean, he could have sent Jensen home the first day.

Luckily, Jensen didn't ask, just assumed that Sam had used his big brain and impressive research skills to figure something out.

And in that way he was a lot like Dean. Because Jensen trusted Sam and his seemingly super-human intelligence, and even if it made Sam feel a little guilty letting Jensen think he was a genius when the way home had been right there under his nose the whole time -- well, Sam was just enough of an asshole to let Jensen have his little delusion.

"And this is gonna work?" Jensen asked when the ingredients were mixed in the ancient blood-stained bowl and they were standing in the dungeon inside the huge sigil Sam had scrawled out on the floor.

Sam raised his eyes, gazing one last time into the actor's emerald green eyes, memorizing every difference.

"Pretty sure," he nodded, clearing his throat.

Because he wasn't getting choked up or anything. No sir.

"Okay, then," Jensen took a deep breath, swung his arms and shook them, bounced on the balls of his feet like this was a warm-up for a scene and he was shaking himself loose to get ready to go into character. "Let's do this thing."

Sam tilted his head skeptically and raised his eyebrows.

Jensen noticed the look and raised his own eyebrows questioningly.

"What?" he demanded.

Sam shook his head.

"Nothing," he breathed out. "Just -- good luck, is all."

Jensen stared at him, blinked.

Sam could see the minute it hit him -- the actor's expressive face crumbling, his gaze sliding away toward the corner of the room as he absorbed the fact that he was really leaving.

Then Jensen's eyes snapped back to Sam's and there was so much emotion there that Sam finally saw Dean -- it was as if he'd been there all along, and Jensen could just call him out at will and -- there he was.

The man was a seriously talented actor.

"You too, Sam," Jensen said, and there were tears filming his eyes now. "I know Winchester luck isn't the best, but I truly wish you everything good, Sam. You will get your brother back, I can promise you that. He can't stay away from you. It isn't in him."

Sam nodded, cleared his throat again.

"You remember what I said about that co-star of yours," Sam said. "You go get him. He's just waiting, I promise."

Jensen nodded and Sam watched as a single tear escaped his shining eyes and rolled down his perfect cheek.

"Goodbye, Sam," Jensen said.

Sam nodded once, then recited the spell.

It only took a minute, less than sixty seconds really, and Jensen was gone.

Sam was alone in the bunker.

Again.

FIN


End file.
